O^A^rvv^  #*<? 


The    TRACER    of 
LOST  PERSONS 


WORKS  OF  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


THE  TRACER  OF  LOST  PERSONS 

THE  RECKONING 

IOLE 


Cardigan 

The  Maid  at  Arms 
•Lorraine 
Maids  of  Paradise 
Ashes  of  Empire 
The  Red  Republic 
The  King  in  Yellow 
A  Maker  of  Moons 
A  King  and  a  Few  Dukes 


The  Conspirators 
The  Cambric  Mask 
The  Haunts  of  Men 
Outsiders 

A  Young  Man  in  a  Hurry 
The  Mystery  of  Choice 
In  Search  of  the  Un 
known 
In  the  Quarter 


FOR     CHILDREN 

Mountain-Land 

Forest-Land  Orchard  Land 

River-Land  Outdoorland 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK 


The  TRACER  of 
LOST  PERSONS 

By    R.  W.    Chambers 


D.   APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
NEW   YORK  MCMVI 


COPYRIGHT,  1906,  BY 
THE  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT,  1906,  BY 
ROBERT    W.    CHAMBERS 


Published  June,  1906 


TO 

MR.  AND  MRS.  WILLIAM  A.  HALL 


56759? 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


PACING 
PAGK 


•'"Then  in  charity  say  that  word  ! '  "  Frontispiece 

(<<l    am    sure    of  it,'   said    the    Tracer  of  Lost 

Persons" 48 

ft e  Standing    there    .    .    .    looking    at    me    with 

such  strange  beautiful  eyes '  '    .        .        90 

" ( This    is    atrocious  ! '    she    murmured,    halting 

to  confront  him"     .        .     ...       ....      170 

" e  As    though    .   .   .   scarcely    sound    asleep    as 

yet'"  .       . 198 

(( '  Would  you  mind  sitting  here  for  a  few  mo 
ments  ? ' "    .  264 


For  the  harmony  of  the  world,  like  that 
of  a  harp,  is  made  up  of  discords. 

— HERACLITUS. 


THE   TRACER   OF   LOST 
PERSONS 


CHAPTER    I 

HE  was  thirty-three,  agreeable  to  look  at, 
equipped  with  as  much  culture  and  intelligence  as 
is  tolerated  east  of  Fifth  Avenue  and  west  of 
Madison.  He  had  a  couple  of  elaborate  rooms  at 
the  Lenox  Club,  a  larger  income  than  seemed  to  be 
good  for  him,  and  no  profession.  It  follows  that 
he  was  a  pessimist  before  breakfast.  Besides,  it's 
a  bad  thing  for  a  man  at  thirty-three  to  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  he  has  seen  all  the  most  at 
tractive  girls  in  the  world  and  that  they  have  been 
vastly  overrated.  So,  when  a  club  servant  with 
gilt  buttons  on  his  coat  tails  knocked  at  the  door, 
the  invitation  to  enter  was  not  very  cordial.  He 
of  the  buttons  knocked  again  to  take  the  edge  off 
before  he  entered;  then  opened  the  door  and  un 
burdened  himself  as  follows : 

"  Mr.  Gatewood,  sir,  Mr.  Kerns's  compliments, 
1 


THE    -PHACER    OF    LQST   PERSONS 

and  wishes 'to  •'tnbfr  if  :'e  :niay  ?ave  'is  coffee  served 
at  your  tyble,  sir." 

Gatewood,  before  the  mirror,  gave  a  vicious 
twist  to  his  tie,  inserted  a  pearl  scarf  pin,  and  re 
garded  the  effect  with  gloomy  approval. 

"  Say  to  Mr.  Kerns  that  I  am — flattered,"  he 
replied  morosely ;  "  and  tell  Henry  I  want  him." 

"'Enry,  sir?    Yes,  sir." 

The  servant  left;  one  of  the  sleek  club  valets 
came  in,  softly  sidling. 

"  Henry !  " 

"Sir?" 

"  I'll  wear  a  white  waistcoat,  if  you  don't 
object." 

The  valet  laid  out  half  a  dozen. 

"  Which  one  do  you  usually  wear  when  I'm 
away,  Henry?  Which  is  your  favorite?  " 

"Sir?" 

"  Pick  it  out  and  don't  look  injured,  and  don't 
roll  up  your  eyes.  I  merely  desire  to  borrow  it 
for  one  day." 

"  Very  good,  sir." 

"  And,  Henry,  hereafter  always  help  yourself 
to  my  best  cigars.  Those  I  smoke  may  injure  you. 
I've  attempted  to  conceal  the  keys,  but  you  will, 
of  course,  eventually  discover  them  under  that 
loose  tile  on  the  hearth." 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

Yes,    sir;   thanky  V  sir,";   returned  ''^the'  '-valet 


gravely. 

"  And—  Henry  !  " 

"  Sir  ?  "  with  martyred  dignity. 

"  When  you  are  tired  of  searching  for  my  oli- 
vine  and  opal  pin,  just  find  it,  for  a  change.  I'd 
like  to  wear  that  pin  for  a  day  or  two  if  it  would 
not  inconvenience  you." 

"  Very  good,  sir  ;  I  will  'unt  it  hup,  sir." 

Gatewood  put  on  his  coat,  took  hat  and  gloves 
from  the  unabashed  valet,  and  sauntered  down 
to  the  sunny  breakfast  room,  where  he  found 
Kerns  inspecting  a  morning  paper  and  leisurely 
consuming  grapefruit  with  a  cocktail  on  the 
side. 

"  Hullo,"  observed  Kerns  briefly. 

"  I'm  not  on  the  telephone,"  snapped  Gatewood. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ;  how  are  you,  dear 
friend?" 

"  7  don't  know  how  I  am,"  retorted  Gatewood 
irritably  ;  "  how  the  devil  should  a  man  know  how 
he  is?" 

"  Everything  going  to  the  bowwows,  as  usual, 
dear  friend?  " 

"As  usual.  Oh,  read  your  paper,  Tommy! 
You  know  well  enough  I'm  not  one  of  those  tail- 
wagging  imbeciles  who  wakes  up  in  the  morning 


THE    TRACER    OF  'LOST   PERSONS 

singih-g : like- u 'halfwitted  -lurk.  Why  should  I, 
with  this  taste  in  my  mouth,  and  the  laundress 
using  vitriol,  and  Henry  sneering  at  my  cigars  ?  " 
He  yawned  and  cast  his  eyes  toward  the  ceiling. 
"  Besides,  there's  too  much  gilt  all  over  this  club ! 
There's  too  much  everywhere.  Half  the  world  is 
stucco,  the  rest  rococo.  Where's  that  Martini  I 
bid  for?" 

Kerns,  undisturbed,  applied  himself  to  cocoa 
and  toasted  muffins.  Grapefruit  and  an  amber- 
tinted  accessory  were  brought  for  the  other  and 
sampled  without  mirth.  However,  a  little  later 
Gatewood  said :  "  Well,  are  you  going  to  read 
your  paper  all  day?  " 

"  What  you  need,"  said  Kerns,  laying  the  paper 
aside,  "  is  a  job — any  old  kind  would  do,  dear 
friend." 

"  I  don't  want  to  make  any  more  money." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to.  I  mean  a  job  where 
you'd  lose  a  lot  and  be  scared  into  thanking 
Heaven  for  carfare.  You9 re  a  nice  object  for  the 
breakfast  table !  " 

"  Bridge.  I  will  be  amiable  enough  by  noon 
time." 

'  Yes,  you're  endurable  by  noon  time,  as  a  rule. 
When  you're  forty  you  may  be  tolerated  after  five 
o'clock ;  when  you're  fifty  your  wife  and  children 

4 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

might  even  venture  to  emerge  from  the  cellar  after 
dinner " 

"Wife!" 

"  I  said  wife,"  replied  Kerns,  as  he  calmly 
watched  his  man. 

He  had  managed  it  well,  so  far,  and  he  was  wise 
enough  not  to  overdo  it.  An  interval  of  silence 
was  what  the  situation  required. 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  wife,"  muttered  Gatewood 
after  a  long  pause. 

"  Oh,  haven't  you  said  that  every  day  for  five 
years  ?  Wife !  Look  at  the  willing  assortment  of 
dreams  playing  Sally  Waters  around  town.  Isn't 
this  borough  a  bower  of  beauty — a  flowery  thicket 
where  the  prettiest  kind  in  all  the  world  grow 
under  glass  or  outdoors?  And  what  do  you  do? 
You  used  to  pretend  to  prowl  about  inspecting  the 
yearly  crop  of  posies,  growling,  cynical,  dissatis 
fied  ;  but  you've  even  given  that  up.  Now  you 
only  point  your  nose  skyward  and  squall  for  a 
mate,  and  yowl  mournfully  that  you  never  have 
seen  your  ideal.  /  know  you" 

"  I  never  have  seen  my  ideal,"  retorted  Gate- 
wood  sulkily,  "  but  I  know  she  exists — somewhere 
between  heaven  and  Hoboken." 

'  You're  sure,  are  you?  " 

"  Oh,  Pm  sure.  And,  rich  or  poor,  good  or  bad, 
5 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

she  was  fashioned  for  me  alone.  That's  a  theory 
of  mine ;  you  needn't  accept  it ;  in  fact,  it's  none  of 
your  business,  Tommy." 

"  All  the  same,"  insisted  Kerns,  "  did  you  ever 
consider  that  if  your  ideal  does  exist  somewhere,  it 
is  morally  up  to  you  to  find  her?  " 

"  Haven't  I  inspected  every  debutante  for  ten 
years?  You  don't  expect  me  to  advertise  for  an 
ideal,  do  you — object,  matrimony?  " 

Kerns  regarded  him  intently.  "  Now,  I'm  go 
ing  to  make  a  vivid  suggestion,  Jack.  In  fact, 
that's  why  I  subjected  myself  to  the  ordeal  of 
breakfasting  with  you.  It's  none  of  my  business, 
as  you  so  kindly  put  it,  but— shall  I  suggest 
something?  " 

"Go  ahead,"  replied  Gatewood,  tranquilly 
lighting  a  cigarette.  "  I  know  what  you'll  say." 

"  No,  you  don't.  Firstly,  you  are  having  such 
a  good  time  in  this  world  that  you  don't  really 
enjoy  yourself — isn't  that  so?  " 

"  I— well  I— well,  let  it  go  at  that." 

"  Secondly,  with  all  your  crimes  and  felonies, 
you  have  one  decent  trait  left:  you  really  would 
like  to  fall  in  love.  And  I  suspect  you'd  even 
marry." 

'There  are  grounds,"  said  Gatewood  guard 
edly,  "  for  your  suspicions.  Et  apres?  " 

6 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 
"  Good.     Then  there's  a  way !     I  know ': 


"  Oh,  don't  tell  me  you  *  know  a  girl,'  or  any 
thing  like  that !"  began  Gatewood  sullenly.  "  I've 
heard  that  before,  and  I  won't  meet  her." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to ;  I  don't  know  anybody. 
All  I  desire  to  say  is  this :  I  do  know  a  way.  The 
other  day  I  noticed  a  sign  on  Fifth  Avenue : 

KEEN  &  CO. 

TRACERS  OF  LOST  PERSONS 

It  was  a  most  extraordinary  sign;  and  having  a 
little  unemployed  imagination  I  began  to  specu 
late  on  how  Keen  &  Co.  might  operate,  and  I  won 
dered  a  little,  too,  that  the  conditions  of  life  in 
this  city  could  enable  a  firm  to  make  a  living  by 
devoting  itself  exclusively  to  the  business  of  hunt 
ing  up  missing  people." 

Kerns  paused,  partly  to  light  a  cigarette, 
partly  for  diplomatic  reasons. 

"What  has  all  this  to  do  with  me?"  inquired 
Gatewood  curiously;  and  diplomacy  scored  one. 

"  Why  not  try  Keen  &  Co.?  " 

"Try  them?  Why?  I  haven't  lost  anybody, 
have  I?" 

"  You  haven't  precisely  lost  anybody,  but  the 
fact  remains  that  you  can't  -find  somebody"  re- 
2  7 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

turned  Kerns  coolly.  "  Why  not  employ  Keen  & 
Co.  to  look  for  her?" 

"  Look  for  whom,  in  Heaven's  name?  " 

"  Your  ideal." 

"  Look  for — for  my  ideal !  Kerns,  you're 
crazy.  How  the  mischief  can  anybody  hunt  for 
somebody  who  doesn't  exist  ?  " 

''  You  say  that  she  does  exist." 

"  But  I  can't  prove  it,  man." 

"  You  don't  have  to ;  it's  up  to  Keen  &  Co.  to 
prove  it.  That's  why  you  employ  them." 

"  What  wild  nonsense  you  talk !  Keen  &  C$. 
might,  perhaps,  be  able  to  trace  the  concrete, 
but  how  are  they  going  to  trace  and  find  the 
abstract  ?  " 

"  She  isn't  abstract ;  she  is  a  lovely,  healthy,  and 
youthful  concrete  object — if,  as  you  say,  she  does 
exist." 

"  How  can  I  prove  she  exists?  " 

"  You  don't  have  to ;  they  do  that." 

"  Look  here,"  said  Gatewood  almost  angrily, 
"  do  you  suppose  that  if  I  were  ass  enough  to  go 
to  these  people  and  tell  them  that  I  wanted  to  find 
my  ideal ' 

"Don't  tell  them  that!" 

"  But  how " 

"  There  is  no  necessity  for  going  into  such 
8 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

trivial  details.  All  you  need  say  is :  '  I  am  very 
anxious  to  find  a  young  lady  ' — and  then  describe 
her  as  minutely  as  you  please.  Then,  when  they 
locate  a  girl  of  that  description  they'll  notify  you ; 
you  will  go,  judge  for  yourself  whether  she  is  the 
one  woman  on  earth — and,  if  disappointed,  you 
need  only  shake  your  head  and  murmur :  '  Not  the 
same ! '  And  it's  for  them  to  find  another." 

"  I  won't  do  it !  "  said  Gatewood  hotly. 

"  Why  not  ?  At  least,  it  would  be  amusing. 
You  haven't  many  mental  resources,  and  it  might 
occupy  you  for  a  week  or  two." 

Gatewood  glared. 

"  You  have  a  pleasant  way  of  putting  things 
this  morning,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"I  don't  want  to  be  pleasant:  I  want  to  jar 
you.  Don't  I  care  enough  about  you  to  breakfast 
with  you?  Then  I've  a  right  to  be  pleasantly  un 
pleasant.  I  can't  bear  to  watch  your  mental  and 
spiritual  dissolution — a  man  like  you,  with  all 
your  latent  ability  and  capacity  for  being  nobody 
in  particular — which  is  the  sort  of  man  this  nation 
needs.  Do  you  want  to  turn  into  a  club-window 
gazer  like  Van  Bronk?  Do  you  want  to  become 
another  Courtlandt  Allerton  and  go  rocking  down 
the  avenue — a  grimacing,  tailor-made  sepulcher? 
— the  pompous  obsequies  of  a  dead  intellect? — 

9 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

a  funeral  on  two  wavering  legs,  carrying  the 
corpse  of  all  that  should  be  deathless  in  a  man? 
Why,  Jack,  I'd  rather  see  you  in  bankruptcy — 
I'd  rather  see  you  trying  to  lead  a  double  life  in 
a  single  flat  on  seven  dollars  and  a  half  a  week — 
I'd  almost  rather  see  you  every  day  at  breakfast 
than  have  it  come  to  that ! 

"Wake  up  and  get  jocund  with  life!  Why, 
you  could  have  all  good  citizens  stung  to  death  if 
you  chose.  It  isn't  that  I  want  you  to  make 
money ;  but  I  want  you  to  worry  over  somebody 
besides  yourself — not  in  Wall  Street — a  pool  and 
its  money  are  soon  parted.  But  in  your  own  home, 
where  a  beautiful  wife  and  seven  angel  children 
have  you  dippy  and  close  to  the  ropes ;  where  the 
housekeeper  gets  a  rake  off,  and  the  cook  is  red 
headed  and  comes  from  Sligo,  and  the  butler's 
cousin  will  bear  watching,  and  the  chauffeur  is  a 
Frenchman,  and  the  coachman's  uncle  is  a  Harlem 
vet,  and  every  scullion  in  the  establishment  lies, 
drinks,  steals,  and  supports  twenty  satiated  rela 
tives  at  your  expense.  That  would  mean  the  mak 
ing  of  you ;  for,  after  all,  Jack,  you  are  no  genius 
—you're  a  plain,  non-partisan,  uninspired,  clean- 
built,  wholesome  citizen,  thank  God! — the  sort 
whose  unimaginative  mission  is  to  pitch  in  with 
eighty-odd  millions  of  us  and,  like  the  busy  coral 
10 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

creatures,  multiply  with  all  your  might,  and  make 
this  little  old  Republic  the  greatest,  biggest,  finest 
article  that  an  overworked  world  has  ever  yet  put 
up !  ...  Now  you  can  call  for  help  if  you 
choose." 

Gatewood's  breath  returned  slowly.  In  an  in 
timacy  of  many  years  he  had  never  suspected  that 
sort  of  thing  from  Kerns.  That  is  why,  no  doubt, 
the  opinions  expressed  by  Kerns  stirred  him  to 
an  astonishment  too  innocent  to  harbor  anger  or 
chagrin. 

And  when  Kerns  stood  up  with  an  unembar 
rassed  laugh,  saying,  "  I'm  going  to  the  office ; 
see  you  this  evening  ? "  Gatewod  replied  rather 
vacantly :  "  Oh,  yes ;  I'm  dining  here.  Good-by, 
Tommy." 

Kerns  glanced  at  his  watch,  lingering.  "  Was 
there  anything  you  wished  to  ask  me,  Jack?  "  he 
inquired  guilelessly. 

"  Ask  you?     No,  I  don't  think  so." 

"  Oh ;  I  had  an  idea  you  might  care  to  know 
where  Keen  &  Co.  were  to  be  found." 

"  That,"  said  Gatewood  firmly,  "  is  foolish." 

"  I'll  write  the  address  for  you,  anyway,"  re 
joined  Kerns,  scribbling  it  and  handing  the  card 
to  his  friend. 

Then  he  went  down  the  stairs,  several  at  a  time, 
11 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

eased  in  conscience,  satisfied  that  he  had  done  his 
duty  by  a  friend  he  cared  enough  for  to  breakfast 
with. 

"  Of  course,"  he  ruminated  as  he  crawled  into  a 
hansom  and  lay  back  buried  in  meditation — "  of 
course  there  may  be  nothing  in  this  Keen  &  Co. 
business.  But  it  will  stir  him  up  and  set  him 
thinking ;  and  the  longer  Keen  &  Co.  take  to  hunt 
up  an  imaginary  lady  that  doesn't  exist,  the  more 
anxious  and  impatient  poor  old  Jack  Gatewood 
will  become,  until  he'll  catch  the  fever  and  go  can 
tering  about  with  that  one  fixed  idea  in  his  head. 
And,"  added  Kerns  softly,  "  no  New  Yorker  in  his 
right  mind  can  go  galloping  through  these  five 
boroughs  very  long  before  he's  roped,  tied,  and 
marked  by  the  '  only  girl  in  the  world  ' — the  only 
girl — if  you  don't  care  to  turn  around  and  look 
at  another  million  girls  precisely  like  her.  O 
Lord ! — precisely  like  her !  " 

Here  was  a  nice  exhorter  to  incite  others  to 
matrimony. 


CHAPTER    II 

MEANWHILE,  Gatewood  was  walking  along  Fifth 
Avenue,  more  or  less  soothed  by  the  May  sunshine. 
First,  he  went  to  his  hatters,  looked  at  straw  hats, 
didn't  like  them,  protested,  and  bought  one,  wish 
ing  he  had  strength  of  mind  enough  to  wear  it 
home.  But  he  hadn't.  Then  he  entered  the  huge 
white  marble  palace  of  his  jeweler,  left  his  watch 
to  be  regulated,  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  girl  whose 
hair  and  neck  resembled  the  hair  and  neck  of  his 
ideal,  sidled  around  until  he  discovered  that  she 
was  chewing  gum,  and  backed  off,  with  a  bitter 
smile,  into  the  avenue  once  more. 

Every  day  for  years  he  had  had  glimpses  of 
girls  whose  hair,  hands,  figures,  eyes,  hats,  car 
riage,  resembled  the  features  required  by  his  ideal ; 
there  always  was  something  wrong  somewhere. 
And,  as  he  strolled  moodily,  a  curious  feeling  of 
despair  seized  him — something  that,  even  in  his 
most  sentimental  moments,  even  amid  the  most 
unexpected  disappointment,  he  had  never  before 
experienced. 

"  I  do  want  to  love  somebody! "  he  found  him- 
13 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

self  saying  half  aloud ;  "  I  want  to  marry ;  I — " 
He  turned  to  look  after  three  pretty  children  with 
their  maids — "  I  want  several  like  those — several ! 
— seven — ten — I  don't  care  how  many !  I  want 
a  house  to  worry  me,  just  as  Tommy  described 
it ;  I  want  to  see  the  same  girl  across  the  breakfast 
table — or  she  can  sip  her  cocoa  in  bed  if  she  de 
sires "  A  slow,  modest  blush  stole  over  his 

features;  it  was  one  of  the  nicest  things  he  ever 
did.  Glancing  up,  he  beheld  across  the  way  a 
white  sign,  ornamented  with  strenuous  crimson 
lettering : 

KEEN  &  CO. 

TRACERS  OF  LOST  PERSONS 

The  moment  he  discovered  it,  he  realized  he  had 
been  covertly  hunting  for  it ;  he  also  realized  that 
he  was  going  to  climb  the  stairs.  He  hadn't  quite 
decided  what  he  meant  to  do  after  that;  nor  was 
his  mind  clear  on  the  matter  when  he  found  him 
self  opening  a  door  of  opaque  glass  on  which  was 
printed  in  red: 

KEEN  &  CO. 

He  was  neither  embarrassed  nor  nervous  when 
he    found    himself    in    a   big   carpeted   anteroom 
where  a  negro  attendant  bowed  him  to  a  seat  and 
14 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

took  his  card ;  and  he  looked  calmly  around  to  see 
what  was  to  be  seen. 

Several  people  occupied  easy  chairs  in  various 
parts  of  the  room — an  old  woman  very  neatly 
dressed,  clutching  in  her  withered  hand  a  photo 
graph  which  she  studied  and  studied  with  tear- 
dimmed  eyes;  a  young  man  wearing  last  year's 
most  fashionable  styles  in  everything  except  his 
features:  and  soap  could  have  aided  him  there; 
two  policemen,  helmets  resting  on  their  knees ;  and, 
last  of  all,  a  rather  thin  child  of  twelve,  staring 
open-mouthed  at  everybody,  a  bundle  of  soiled 
clothing  under  one  arm.  Through  an  open  door 
he  saw  a  dozen  young  women  garbed  in  black,  with 
white  cuffs  and  collars,  all  rattling  away  steadily 
at  typewriters.  Every  now  and  then,  from  some 
hidden  office,  a  bell  rang  decisively,  and  one  of  the 
girls  would  rise  from  her  machine  and  pass  noise 
lessly  out  of  sight  to  obey  the  summons.  From 
time  to  time,  too,  the  darky  servant  with  marvel 
ous  manners  would  usher  somebody  through  the 
room  where  the  typewriters  were  rattling,  into  the 
unseen  office.  First  the  old  woman  went — shakily, 
clutching  her  photograph ;  then  the  thin  child  with 
the  bundle,  staring  at  everything;  then  the  two 
fat  policemen,  in  portentous  single  file,  helmets  in 
their  white-gloved  hands,  oiled  hair  glistening. 
15 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

Gatewood's  turn  was  approaching;  he  waited 
without  any  definite  emotion,  watching  newcomers 
enter  to  take  the  places  of  those  who  had  been 
summoned.  He  hadn't  the  slightest  idea  of  what 
he  was  to  say;  nor  did  it  worry  him.  A  curious 
sense  of  impending  good  fortune  left  him  pleas 
antly  tranquil ;  he  picked  up,  from  the  silver  tray 
on  the  table  at  his  elbow,  one  of  the  firm's  business 
cards,  and  scanned  it  with  interest: 

KEEN  &  CO. 

TRACERS  OF  LOST  PERSONS 

Keen  $•  Co.  are  prepared  to  locate  the 
whereabouts  of  anybody  on  earth.  No 
charges  will  be  made  unless  the  person 
searched  for  is  found. 

Blanks  on  application. 

WESTREL  KEEN,  Manager. 

"  Mistuh  Keen  will  see  you,  suh,"  came  a  per 
suasive  voice  at  his  elbow ;  and  he  rose  and  followed 
the  softly  moving  colored  servant  out  of  the  room, 
through  a  labyrinth  of  demure  young  women  at 
their  typewriters,  then  sharply  to  the  right  and 
into  a  big,  handsomely  furnished  office,  where  a 
sleepy-looking  elderly  gentleman  rose  from  an 
armchair  and  bowed.  There  could  not  be  the 
16 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

slightest  doubt  that  he  was  a  gentleman;  every 
movement,  every  sound  he  uttered,  settled  the  fact. 

"Mr.  Keen?" 

"Mr.  Gatewood?  "  —  with  a  quiet  certainty 
which  had  its  charm.  "  This  is  very  good  of 
you." 

Gatewood  sat  down  and  looked  at  his  host. 
Then  he  said :  "  I'm  searching  for  somebody,  Mr. 
Keen,  whom  you  are  not  likely  to  find." 

"  I  doubt  it,"  said  Keen  pleasantly. 

Gatewood  smiled.  "  If,"  he  said,  "  you  will  un 
dertake  to  find  the  person  I  cannot  find,  I  must 
ask  you  to  accept  a  retainer." 

"  We  don't  require  retainers,"  replied  Keen. 
"  Unless  we  find  the  person  sought  for,  we  make 
no  charges,  Mr.  Gatewood." 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  do  so  in  my  case.  It  is  not 
fair  that  you  should  undertake  it  on  other  terms. 
I  desire  to  make  a  special  arrangement  with  you. 
Do  you  mind?  " 

"What  arrangement  had  you  contemplated?" 
inquired  Keen,  amused. 

"  Only  this :  charge  me  in  advance  exactly  what 
you  would  charge  if  successful.  And,  on  the 
other  hand,  do  not  ask  me  for  detailed  information 
—I  mean,  do  not  insist  on  any  information  that 
I  decline  to  give.  Do  you  mind  taking  up  such 
17 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

an  extraordinary  and  unbusinesslike  proposition, 
Mr.  Keen?" 

The  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  looked  up  sharply : 

"  About  how  much  information  do  you  decline 
to  give,  Mr.  Gatewood?  " 

"  About  enough  to  incriminate  and  degrade," 
replied  the  young  man,  laughing. 

The  elderly  gentleman  sat  silent,  apparently 
buried  in  meditation.  Once  or  twice  his  pleasant 
steel-gray  eyes  wandered  over  Gatewood  as  an  ex 
pert,  a  connoisseur,  glances  at  a  picture  and  as 
similates  its  history,  its  value,  its  artistic  merit, 
its  every  detail  in  one  practiced  glance. 

"  I  think  we  may  take  up  this  matter  for  you, 
Mr.  Gatewood,"  he  said,  smiling  his  singularly 
agreeable  smile. 

"  But — but  you  would  first  desire  to  know 
something  about  me — would  you  not?  " 

Keen  looked  at  him :  "  You  will  not  mistake  me 
—you  will  consider  it  entirely  inoffensive — if  I  say 
that  I  know  something  about  you,  Mr.  Gate- 
wood? " 

"  About  me?  How  can  you  ?  Of  course,  there 
is  the  social  register  and  the  club  lists  and  all 
that " 

"And  many,  many  sources  of  information  which 
are  necessary  in  such  a  business  as  this,  Mr.  Gate- 
18 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

wood.  It  is  a  necessity  for  us  to  be  almost  as  well 
informed  as  our  clients'  own  lawyers.  I  could  pay 
you  no  sincerer  compliment  than  to  undertake 
your  case.  I  am  half  inclined  to  do  so  even  with 
out  a  retainer.  Mind,  I  haven't  yet  said  that  I 
will  take  it." 

"  I  prefer  to  reg'ilate  any  possible  indebtedness 
in  advance,"  said  Gatewood. 

"  As  you  wish,"  replied  the  older  man,  smiling. 
"  In  that  case,  suppose  you  draw  your  check  "  (he 
handed  Gatewood  a  fountain  pen  as  the  young 
man  fished  a  check-book  from  his  pocket) — "  your 
check  for — well,  say  for  $5,000,  to  the  order  of 
Keen  &  Co." 

Gatewood  met  his  eye  without  wincing;  he  was 
in  for  it  now;  and  he  was  always  perfectly  game. 
He  had  brought  it  upon  himself;  it  was  his  own 
proposition.  Not  that  he  would  have  for  a  mo 
ment  considered  the  sum  as  high — or  any  sum  ex 
orbitant — if  there  had  been  a  chance  of  success; 
one  cannot  compare  and  weigh  such  matters.  But 
how  could  there  be  any  chance  for  success  ? 

As  he  slowly  smoothed  out  the  check  and  stub, 
pen  poised,  Keen  was  saying :  "  Of  course,  we 
should  succeed  sooner  or  later — if  we  took  up  your 
case.  We  might  succeed  to-morrow  —  to-day. 
That  would  mean  a  large  profit  for  us.  But  we 
19 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

might  not  succeed  to-day,  or  next  month,  or  even 
next  year.  That  would  leave  us  little  or  no  profit ; 
and,  as  it  is  our  custom  to  go  on  until  we  do  suc 
ceed,  no  matter  how  long  it  may  require,  you  see, 
Mr.  Gatewood,  I  should  be  taking  all  sorts  of 
chances.  It  might  even  cost  us  double  your  re 
tainer  before  we  found  her " 

"  Her  ?    How  did — why  do  you  say  '  her  '  ?  " 

"  Am  I  wrong?  "  asked  Keen,  smiling. 

"  No — you  are  right." 

The  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  sank  into  abstrac 
tion  again.  Gatewood  waited,  hoping  that  his 
case  might  be  declined,  yet  ready  to  face  any  music 
started  at  his  own  request. 

"  She  is  young,"  mused  Keen  aloud,  "  very 
beautiful  and  accomplished.  Is  she  wealthy  ?  " 
He  looked  up  mildly. 

Gatewood  said :  "  I  don't  know — the  truth  is  I 
don't  care "  And  stopped. 

"O-ho!"  mused  Keen  slowly.  "  I— think— I 
understand.  Am  I  wrong,  Mr.  Gatewood,  in  sur 
mising  that  this  young  lady  whom  you  seek  is,  in 
your  eyes,  very — I  may  say  ideally  gifted?  " 

"  She  is  my  ideal,"  replied  the  young  man, 
coloring. 

"  Exactly.     And — her  general  allure?  " 

"Charming!" 

20 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Exactly ;  but  to  be  a  trifle  more  precise — if 
you  could  give  me  a  sketch,  an  idea,  a  mere  outline 
delicately  tinted,  now.  Is  she  more  blond  than 
brunette?" 

«  Yes — but  her  eyes  are  brown.  I — I  insist  on 
that." 

"  Why  should  you  not  ?  You  know  her ;  I 
don't,"  said  Keen,  laughing.  "  I  merely  wished  to 
form  a  mental  picture.  .  .  .  You  say  her  hair  is 


-is- 


"  It's  full  of  sunny  color ;  that's  all  I  can  say." 

"  Exactly — I  see.  A  rare  and  lovely  combina 
tion  with  brown  eyes  and  creamy  skin,  Mr.  Gate- 
wood.  I  fancy  she  might  be,  perhaps,  an  inch 
or  two  under  your  height?  " 

"  Just  about  that.  Her  hands  should  be — are 
beautiful " 

"  Exactly.  The  ensemble  is  most  vividly  por 
trayed,  Mr.  Gatewood;  and — you  have  intimated 
that  her  lack  of  fortune — er — we  might  almost 
say  her  pecuniary  distress — is  more  than  compen 
sated  for  by  her  accomplishments,  character,  and 
very  unusual  beauty.  .  .  .  Did  I  so  understand 
you,  Mr.  Gatewood?" 

"  That's  what  I  meant,  anyhow,"  he  said, 
flushing  up. 

"You  did  mean  it?" 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"I  did:  I  do." 

"  Then  we  take  your  case,  Mr.  Gatewood.  .  .  . 
No  haste  about  the  check,  my  dear  sir — pray  con 
sider  us  at  your  service." 

But  Gatewood  doggedly  filled  in  the  check  and 
handed  it  to  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons. 

"  I  wish  you  happiness,"  said  the  older  man  in 
a  low  voice.  "  The  lady  you  describe  exists ;  it  is 
for  us  to  discover  her." 

"Thank  you,"  stammered  Gatewood,  astounded. 

Keen  touched  an  electric  button;  a  moment 
later  a  young  girl  entered  the  room. 

"  Miss  Southerland,  Mr.  Gatewood.  Will  you 
be  kind  enough  to  take  Mr.  Gatewood's  dictation 
in  Room  19?" 

For  a  second  Gatewood  stared — as  though  in 
the  young  girl  before  him  the  ghost  of  his  ideal 
had  risen  to  confront  him — only  for  a  second; 
then  he  bowed,  matching  her  perfect  acknowledg 
ment  of  his  presence  by  a  bearing  and  courtesy 
which  must  have  been  inbred  to  be  so  faultless. 

And  he  followed  her  to  Room  19. 

What  had  Keen  meant  by  saying,  "  The  lady 
you  describe  exists !  "  Did  this  remarkable  elderly 
gentleman  suspect  that  it  was  to  be  a  hunt  for  an 
ideal?  Had  he  deliberately  entered  into  such  a 
bargain  ?  Impossible ! 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

His  disturbed  thoughts  reverted  to  the  terms  of 
the  bargain,  the  entire  enterprise,  the  figures  on 
his  check.  His  own  amazing  imbecility  appalled 
him.  What  idiocy !  What  sudden  madness  had 
seized  him  to  entangle  himself  in  such  unheard-of 
negotiations!  True,  he  had  played  bridge  until 
dawn  the  night  before,  but,  on  awaking,  he  had 
discovered  no  perceptible  hold-over.  It  must 
have  been  sheer  weakness  of  intellect  that  per 
mitted  him  to  be  dominated  by  the  suggestions 
of  Kerns.  And  now  the  game  was  on:  the  jack 
declared,  cards  dealt,  and  his  ante  was  up.  Had 
he  openers? 

Room  19,  duly  labeled  with  its  number  on  the 
opaque  glass  door,  contained  a  desk,  a  table  and 
typewriter,  several  comfortable  chairs,  and  a  win 
dow  opening  on  Fifth  Avenue,  through  which  the 
eastern  sun  poured  a  stream  of  glory,  washing 
curtain,  walls,  and  ceiling  with  palest  gold. 

And  all  this  time,  preoccupied  with  new  impres 
sions  and  his  own  growing  chagrin,  he  watched  the 
girl  who  conducted  him  with  all  the  unconscious 
assurance  and  grace  of  a  young  chatelaine  pass 
ing  through  her  own  domain  under  escort  of  a 
distinguished  guest. 

When  they  had  entered  Room  19,  she  half 
turned,  but  he  forestalled  her  and  closed  the  door, 
3  23 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

and  she  passed  before  him  with  a  perceptible  in 
clination  of  her  finely  modeled  head,  seating  her 
self  at  the  desk  by  the  open  window.  He  took  an 
armchair  at  her  elbow  and  removed  his  gloves, 
looking  at  her  expectantly. 


CHAPTER    III 

"  THIS  is  a  list  of  particular  and  general  ques 
tions  for  you  to  answer,  Mr.  Gatewood,"  she  said, 
handing  him  a  long  slip  of  printed  matter.  '  The 
replies  to  such  questions  as  you  are  able  or  willing 
to  answer  you  may  dictate  to  me."  The  beauty 
of  her  modulated  voice  was  scarcely  a  surprise — 
no  woman  who  moved  and  carried  herself  as  did 
this  tall  young  girl  in  black  and  white  could 
reasonably  be  expected  to  speak  with  less  distinc 
tion — yet  the  charm  of  her  voice,  from  the  mo 
ment  her  lips  unclosed,  so  engrossed  him  that  the 
purport  of  her  speech  escaped  him. 

"Would  you  mind  saying  it  once  more?"  he 
asked. 

She  did  so;  he  attempted  to  concentrate  his 
attention,  and  succeeded  sufficiently  to  look  as 
though  some  vestige  of  intellect  remained  in  him. 
He  saw  her  pick  up  a  pad  and  pencil ;  the  contour 
and  grace  of  two  deliciously  fashioned  hands  ar 
rested  his  mental  process  once  more. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  hastily ;  "  what 
were  you  saying,  Miss  Southerland?  " 
25 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Nothing,  Mr.  Gatewood.  I  did  not  speak." 
And  he  realized,  hazily,  that  she  had  not  spoken 
— that  it  was  the  subtle  eloquence  of  her  youth 
and  loveliness  that  had  appealed  like  a  sudden 
voice — a  sound  faintly  exquisite  echoing  his  own 
thought  of  her. 

Troubled,  he  looked  at  the  slip  of  paper  in  his 
hand ;  it  was  headed : 

SPECIAL  DESCRIPTION  BLANK 
(Form  K) 

And  he  read  it  as  carefully  as  he  was  able  to — the 
curious  little  clamor  of  his  pulses,  the  dazed  sense 
of  elation,  almost  of  expectation,  distracting  his 
attention  all  the  time. 

"  I  wish  you  would  read  it  to  me,"  he  said ; 
"  that  would  give  me  time  to  think  up  answers." 

"  If  you  wish,"  she  assented  pleasantly,  swing 
ing  around  toward  him  in  her  desk  chair.  Then 
she  crossed  one  knee  over  the  other  to  support  the 
pad,  and,  bending  above  it,  lifted  her  brown  eyes. 
She  could  have  done  nothing  in  the  world  more 
distracting  at  that  moment. 

"  What  is  the  sex  of  the  person  you  desire  to 
find,  Mr.  Gatewood?" 

"  Her  sex?    I — well,  I  fancy  it  is  feminine." 

She  wrote  after  "  Sex "  the  words  "  She  is 
26 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

probably  feminine " ;  looked  at  him  absently, 
glanced  at  what  she  had  written,  flushed  a  little, 
rubbed  out  the  "  she  is  probably,"  wondering  why 
a  moment's  mental  wandering  should  have  com 
mitted  her  to  absurdity. 

"  Married?  "  she  asked  with  emphasis. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  startled ;  then,  vexed,  "  I  beg 
your  pardon — you  mean  to  ask  if  she  is  married !  " 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  you,  Mr.  Gatewood ;  it's  the 
next  question,  you  see  " — she  held  out  the  blank 
toward  him.  "  Is  the  person  you  are  looking  for 
married  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  she  isn't  married,  either — at  least— - 
I  trust — not — because  if  she  is  I  don't  want  to  find 
her !  "  he  ended,  entangled  in  an  explanation  which 
threatened  to  involve  him  deeper  than  he  desired. 
And,  looking  up,  he  saw  the  beautiful  brown  eyes 
regarding  him  steadily.  They  reverted  to  the 
paper  at  once,  and  the  white  fingers  sent  the  pencil 
flying. 

"  He  trusts  that  she  is  unmarried,  but  if  she  is 
(underlined)  married  he  doesn't  want  to  find  her," 
she  wrote. 

"  That,"  she  explained,  "  goes  under  the  head 
of  '  General  Remarks  '  at  the  bottom  of  the  page  " 
— she  held  it  out,  pointing  with  her  pencil.     He 
nodded,  staring  at  her  slender  hand. 
27 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"Age?"  she  continued,  setting  the  pad  firmly 
on  her  rounded,  yielding  knee  and  looking  up  at 
him. 

"Age?  Well,  I — as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  could 
only  venture  a  surmise.  You  know,"  he  said  ear 
nestly,  "  how  difficult  it  is  to  guess  ages,  don't 
you,  Miss  Southerland  ?  " 

"  How  old  do  you  think  she  is  ?  Could  you  not 
hazard  a  guess — judging,  say,  from  her  appear 
ance  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  data — no  experience  to  guide  me." 
He  was  becoming  involved  again.  "  Would  you, 
for  practice,  permit  me  first  to  guess  your  age, 
Miss  Southerland?" 

"  Why — yes — if  you  think  that  might  help  you 
to  guess  hers." 

So  he  leaned  back  in  his  armchair  and  consid 
ered  her  a  very  long  time — having  a  respectable 
excuse  to  do  so.  Twenty  times  he  forgot  he  was 
looking  at  her  for  any  purpose  except  that  of  dis 
interested  delight,  and  twenty  times  he  remem 
bered  with  a  guilty  wince  that  it  was  a  matter  of 
business. 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  tell  you,"  she  sug 
gested,  her  color  rising  a  little  under  his  scru 
tiny. 

"  Is  it  eighteen?    Just  her  age!  " 
28 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST   PERSONS 

"Twenty-one,  Mr.  Gatewood — and  you  said 
you  didn't  know  her  age." 

"  I  have  just  remembered  that  I  thought  it 
might  be  eighteen;  but  I  dare  say  I  was  shy  three 
years  in  her  case,  too.  You  may  put  it  down  at 
twenty-one." 

For  the  slightest  fraction  of  a  second  the  brown 
eyes  rested  on  his,  the  pencil  hovered  in  hesitation. 
Then  the  eyes  fell,  and  the  moving  fingers  wrote. 

"Did  you  write  'twenty-one'?"  he  inquired 
carelessly. 

"  I  did  not,  Mr.  Gatewood." 

"What  did  you  write?" 

"I  wrote:  'He  doesn't  appear  to  know  much 
about  her  age.' ' 

"  But  I  do  know " 

"  You  said "     They  looked  at  one  another 

earnestly. 

"  The  next  question,"  she  continued  with  com 
posure,  "  is :  '  Date  and  place  of  birth?  '  Can  you 
answer  any  part  of  that  question?  " 

"I  trust  I  may  be  able  to — some  day.  .  .  . 
What  are  you  writing?  " 

"I'm  writing:  'He  trusts  he  may  be  able  to, 
some  day.'  Wasn't  that  what  you  said?  " 

"Yes,  I    did  say  that.     I— I'm  not  perfectly 
sure  what  I  meant  by  it." 
29 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

She  passed  to  the  next  question : 

"Height?" 

"  About  five  feet  six,"  he  said,  fascinated  gaze 
on  her. 

"Hair?" 

"  More  gold  than  brown  —  full  of  —  er  — 
gleams "  She  looked  up  quickly;  his  eyes  re 
verted  to  the  window  rather  suddenly.  He  had 
been  looking  at  her  hair. 

"  Complexion?  "  she  continued  after  a  shade  of 
hesitation. 

"  It's  a  sort  of  delicious  mixture — bisque,  tinted 

with  a  pinkish  bloom — ivory  and  rose "  He 

was  explaining  volubly,  when  she  began  to  shake 
her  head,  timing  each  shake  to  his  words. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Gatewood,  I  think  you  are  hope 
lessly  vague  on  that  point — unless  you  desire  to 
convey  the  impression  that  she  is  speckled." 

"  Speckled !  "  he  repeated,  horrified.  "  Why,  I 
am  describing  a  woman  who  is  my  ideal  of 
beauty " 

But  she  had  already  gone  to  the  next  question : 

"Teeth?" 

"  P-p-perf ect  p-p-pearls !  "  he  stammered.  The 
laughing  red  mouth  closed  like  a  flower  at  dusk, 
veiling  the  sparkle  of  her  teeth. 

Was  he  trying  to  be  impertinent?  Was  he  de- 
30 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

liberately  describing  her?  He  did  not  look  like 
that  sort  of  man ;  yet  why  was  he  watching  her  so 
closely,  so  curiously  at  every  question?  Why  did 
he  look  at  her  teeth  when  she  laughed? 

"  Eyes  ?  "  Her  own  dared  him  to  continue 
what,  coincidence  or  not,  was  plainly  a  description 
of  herself. 

"  B-b-b "      He    grew    suddenly    timorous, 

hesitating,  pretending  to  a  perplexity  which 
was  really  a  healthy  scare.  For  she  was  frown 
ing. 

"  Curious  I  can't  think  of  the  color  of  her 
eyes,"  he  said;  "  is— isn't  it?" 

She  coldly  inspected  her  pad  and  made  a  cor 
rection;  but  all  she  did  was  to  rub  out  a  comma 
and  put  another  in  its  place.  Meanwhile,  Gate- 
wood,  chin  in  his  hand,  sat  buried  in  profound 
thought.  "  Were  they  blue?"  he  murmured  to 
himself  aloud,  "  or  were  they  brown?  Blue  begins 
with  a  b  and  brown  begins  with  a  b.  I'm  con 
vinced  that  her  eyes  began  with  a  b.  They  were 
not,  therefore,  gray  or  green,  because,"  he  added 
in  a  burst  of  confidence,  "  it  is  utterly  impossible 
to  spell  gray  or  green  with  a  b!" 

Miss  Southerland  looked  slightly  astonished. 

"  All  you  can  recollect,  then,  is  that  the  color 
of  her  eyes  began  with  the  letter  b?  " 
31 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  That  is  absolutely  all  I  can  remember ;  but  I 
think  they  were — brown." 

"  If  they  were  brown  they  must  be  brown  now," 
she  observed,  looking  out  of  the  window. 

"  That's  true !  Isn't  it  curious  I  never  thought 
of  that?  What  are  you  writing?  " 

"  Brown,"  she  said,  so  briefly  that  it  sounded 
something  like  a  snub. 

"  Mouth  ?  "  inquired  the  girl,  turning  a  new 
leaf  on  her  pad. 

"  Perfect.  Write  it :  there  is  no  other  term  fit 
to  describe  its  color,  shape,  its  sensitive  beauty, 
its What  did  you  write  just  then?  " 

"  I  wrote,  '  Mouth,  ordinary.'  " 

"  I  don't  want  you  to !    I  want " 

"  Really,  Mr.  Gatewood,  a  rhapsody  on  a  girl's 
mouth  is  proper  in  poetry,  but  scarcely  germane 
to  the  record  of  a  purely  business  transaction. 
Please  answer  the  next  question  tersely,  if  you 
don't  mind:  '  Figure?  '  " 

"  Oh,  I  do  mind !  I  can't !  Any  poem  is  much 
too  brief  to  describe  her  figure " 

"  Shall  we  say  '  Perfect '?  "  asked  the  girl,  rais 
ing  her  brown  eyes  in  a  glimmering  transition 
from  vexation  to  amusement.  For,  after  all,  it 
could  be  only  a  coincidence  that  this  young  man 
should  be  describing  features  peculiar  to  herself. 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"Couldn't  you  write,  '  Venus-of-Milo-like  '  ?  " 
he  inquired.  "  That  is  laconic." 

"  I  could — if  it's  true.  But  if  you  mean  it  for 
praise — I — don't  think  any  modern  woman  would 
be  flattered." 

"  I  always  supposed  that  she  of  Milo  had  an 
ideal  figure,"  he  said,  perplexed. 

She  wrote,  "  A  good  figure."  Then,  propping 
her  rounded  chin  on  one  lovely  white  hand,  she 
glanced  at  the  next  question : 

"Hands?" 

"  White,  beautiful,  rose-tipped,  slender  yet 
softly  and  firmly  rounded " 

"  How  can  they  be  soft  and  firm,  too,  Mr.  Gate- 
wood?  "  she  protested;  then,  surprising  his  guilty 
eyes  fixed  on  her  hands,  hastily  dropped  them  and 
sat  up  straight,  level-browed,  cold  as  marble. 
Was  he  deliberately  being  rude  to  her? 


33 


CHAPTER    IV 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  not.  Too  poor  in 
imagination  to  invent,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment, 
charms  and  qualities  suited  to  his  ideal,  he  had,  at 
first  unconsciously,  taken  as  a  model  the  girl  be 
fore  him ;  quite  unconsciously  and  innocently  at 
first — then  furtively,  and  with  a  dawning  percep 
tion  of  the  almost  flawless  beauty  he  was  secretly 
plagiarizing.  Aware,  now,  that  something  had 
annoyed  her ;  aware,  too,  at  the  same  moment  that 
there  appeared  to  be  nothing  lacking  in  her  to 
satisfy  his  imagination  of  the  ideal,  he  began  to 
turn  redder  than  he  had  ever  turned  in  all  his  life. 

Several  minutes  of  sixty  seconds  each  ensued 
before  he  ventured  to  stir  a  finger.  And  it  was 
only  when  she  bent  again  very  gravely  over  her 
pad  that  he  cautiously  eased  a  cramped  muscle  or 
two,  and  drew  a  breath — a  long,  noiseless,  deep 
and  timid  respiration.  He  realized  the  enormity 
of  what  he  had  been  doing — how  close  he  had  come 
to  giving  unpardonable  offense  by  drawing  a  per 
fect  portrait  of  her  as  the  person  he  desired  to 
find  through  the  good  offices  of  Keen  &  Co. 
34 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST   PERSONS 

But  there  was  no  such  person — unless  she  had 
a  double:  for  what  more  could  a  man  desire  than 
the  ideal  traits  he  had  been  able  to  describe  only 
by  using  her  as  his  inspiration. 

When  he  ventured  to  look  at  her,  one  glance  was 
enough  to  convince  him  that  she,  too,  had  noticed 
the  parallel — had  been  forced  to  recognize  her  own 
features  in  the  portrait  he  had  constructed  of  an 
ideal.  And  she  had  caught  him  in  absent-minded 
contemplation  of  the  hands  he  had  been  describ 
ing.  He  knew  that  his  face  was  the  face  of  a 
guilty  man. 

"  What  is  the  next  question  ?  "  he  stammered, 
eager  to  answer  it  in  a  manner  calculated  to  allay 
her  suspicions. 

"  The  next  question  ?  "  She  glanced  at  the  list, 
then  with  a  voice  of  velvet  which  belied  the  eyes, 
clear  as  frosty  brown  pools  in  November :  "  The 
next  question  requires  a  description  of  her  feet." 

"  Feet !  Oh — they — they're  rather  large — 
— why,  her  feet  are  enormous,  I  believe " 

She  looked  at  him  as  though  stunned ;  suddenly 
a  flood  of  pink  spread,  wave  on  wave,  from  the 
white  nape  of  her  neck  to  her  hair;  she  bent  low 
over  her  pad  and  wrote  something,  remaining  in 
that  attitude  until  her  face  cooled. 

"  Somehow  or  other  I've  done  it  again ! "  he 
35 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

thought,  horrified.     "  The  best  thing  I  can  do  is 
to  end  it  and  go  home." 

In  his  distress  he  began  to  hedge,  saying :  "  Of 
course,  she  is  rather  tall  and  her  feet  are  in  some 
sort  of  proportion — in  fact,  they  are  perfectly 
symmetrical  feet " 

Never  in  his  life  had  he  encountered  a  pair  of 
such  angrily  beautiful  eyes.  Speech  stopped  with 
a  dry  gulp. 

"  We  now  come  to  '  General  Remarks,'  "  she 
said  in  a  voice  made  absolutely  steady  and  emo 
tionless.  "  Have  you  any  remarks  of  that  de 
scription  to  offer,  Mr.  Gatewood?  " 

"  I'm  willing  to  make  remarks,"  he  said,  "  if  I 
only  knew  what  you  wished  me  to  say." 

She  mused,  eyes  on  the  sunny  window,  then 
looked  up.  "  Where  did  you  last  see  her?  " 

"  Near  Fifth  Avenue." 

"And  what  street?" 

He  named  the  street. 

"  Near  here  ?  " 

"  Rather,"  he  said  timidly. 

She  ruffled  the  edges  of  her  pad,  wrote  some 
thing  and  erased  it,  bit  her  scarlet  upper  lip,  and 
frowned. 

"  Out  of  doors,  of  course?  " 

"  No ;  indoors,"  he  admitted  furtively. 
36 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

She  looked  up  with  a  movement  almost  nervous. 

"  Do  you  dare — I  mean,  care — to  be  more 
concise?  " 

"  I  would  rather  not,"  he  replied  in  a  voice  from 
which  he  hoped  he  had  expelled  the  tremors  of 
alarm. 

"  As  you  please,  Mr.  Gatewood.  And  would 
you  care  to  answer  any  of  these  other  questions: 
Who  and  what  are  or  were  her  parents?  Give  all 
particulars  concerning  all  her  relatives.  Is  she 
employed  or  not?  What  are  her  social,  financial, 
and  general  circumstances?  Her  character,  per 
sonal  traits,  aims,  interests,  desires?  Has  she  any 
vices?  Any  virtues?  Talents?  Ambitions?  Ca 
prices?  Fads?  Are  you  in  love  with  her? 
Is " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  am." 

"  Is  she  in  love  with  you?  " 

"  No ;  she  hates  me — I'm  afraid." 

"  Is  she  in  love  with  anybody  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  very  difficult " 

The  girl  wrote :  "  He  doesn't  know,"  with  a  sat 
isfaction  apparently  causeless. 

"  Is  she  a  relative  of  yours,  Mr.  Gatewood?  " 
very  sweetly. 

"  No,  Miss  Southerland,"  very  positively. 

"  You — you  desire  to  marry  her — you  say  ?  " 
37 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  I  do.     But  I  didn't  say  it." 

She  was  silent ;  then : 

"  What  is  her  name  ?  "  in  a  low  voice  which 
started  several  agreeable  thrills  chasing  one  an 
other  over  him. 

"  I — I  decline  to  answer,"  he  stammered. 

"  On  what  grounds,  Mr.  Gatewood?  " 

He  looked  her  full  in  the  eyes ;  suddenly  he  bent 
forward  and  gazed  at  the  printed  paper  from 
which  she  had  been  apparently  reading. 

"  Why,  all  those  questions  you  are  scaring  me 
with  are  not  there !  "  he  exclaimed  indignantly. 
"  You  are  making  them  up  ?  " 

"  I — I  know,  but  " — she  was  flushing  furiously 
— "  but  they  are  on  the  other  forms — some  of 
them.  Can't  you  see  you  are  answering  6  Form 
K  '?  That  is  a  special  form " 

"  But  why  do  you  ask  me  questions  that  are  not 
on  Form  K?" 

"  Because  it  is  my  duty  to  do  all  I  can  to  secure 
evidence  which  may  lead  to  the  discovery  of  the 
person  you  desire  to  find.  I — I  assure  you,  Mr. 
Gatewood,  this  duty  is  not — not  always  agreeable 
— and  some  people  make  it  harder  still." 

Gatewood  looked  out  of  the  window.  Various 
emotions — among  them  shame,  mortification,  cha 
grin — pervaded  him,  and  chased  each  other  along 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

his  nervous  system,  coloring  his  neck  and  ears  a 
fiery  red  for  the  enlightenment  of  any  observer. 

"I — I  did  not  mean  to  offend  you,"  said  the 
girl  in  a  low  voice — such  a  gently  regretful  voice 
that  Gatewood  swung  around  in  his  chair. 

"  There  is  nothing  I  would  not  be  glad  to  tell 
you  about  the  woman  I  have  fallen  in  love  with," 
he  said.  "  She  is  overwhelmingly  lovely ;  and — 
when  I  dare — I  will  tell  you  her  name  and  where 
I  first  saw  her — and  where  I  saw  her  last — if  you 
desire.  Shall  I?" 

"  It  would  be  advisable.  When  will  you  do 
this?" 

"  When  I  dare." 

"  You — you  don't  dare — now  ?  " 

"  No  .  .  .  not  now." 

She  absently  wrote  on  her  pad :  "  He  doesn't 
dare  tell  me  now."  Then,  with  head  still  bent, 
she  lifted  her  mischief -making,  trouble-breeding 
brown  eyes  to  his  once  more. 

"  I  am  to  come  here,  of  course,  to  consult  you?  " 
he  asked  dizzily. 

"  Mr.  Keen  will  receive  you " 

"  He  may  be  busy." 

"  He  may  be,"  she  repeated  dreamily. 

«  So— I'll  ask  for  you." 

"  We  could  write  you,  Mr.  Gatewood." 
4  39 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

He  said  hastily :  "  It's  no  trouble  for  me  to 
come ;  I  walk  every  morning." 

"  But  there  would  be  no  use,  I  think,  in  your 
coming  very  soon.  All  I — all  Mr.  Keen  could  do 

for  a  while  would  be  to  report  progress " 

4  That  is  all  I  dare  look  for :  progress — for  the 
present." 

During  the  time  that  he  remained — which  was 
not  very  long — neither  of  them  spoke  until  he 
arose  to  take  his  departure. 

"  Good-by,  Miss  Southerland.  I  hope  you  may 
find  the  person  I  have  been  searching  for." 

"  Good-by,  Mr.  Gatewood.  ...  I  hope  we  shall ; 
.  .  .  but  I— don't— know." 

And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  did  not  know ;  she 
was  rather  excited  over  nothing,  apparently ;  and 
also  somewhat  preoccupied  with  several  rather  dis 
turbing  emotions  the  species  of  which  she  was  in 
terested  in  determining.  But  to  label  and  cata 
logue  each  of  these  emotions  separately  required 
privacy  and  leisure  to  think — and  she  also  wished 
to  look  very  earnestly  at  the  reflection  of  her  own 
face  in  the  mirror  of  her  own  chamber.  For  it  is 
a  trifle  exciting — though  but  an  innocent  coinci 
dence — to  be  compared,  feature  by  feature,  to  a 
young  man's  ideal.  As  far  as  that  went,  she  ex 
celled  it,  too ;  and,  as  she  stood  by  the  desk,  alone, 
40 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

gathering  up  her  notes,  she  suddenly  bent  over 
and  lifted  the  hem  of  her  gown  a  trifle — sufficient 
to  reassure  herself  that  the  dainty  pair  of  shoes 
she  wore,  would  have  baffled  the  efforts  of  any 
Venus  ever  sculptured.  And  she  was  perfectly 
right. 

"  Of  course,"  she  thought  to  herself,  "  his  ideal 
runaway  hasn't  enormous  feet.  He,  too,  must 
have  been  struck  with  the  similarity  between  me 
and  his  ideal,  and  when  he  realized  that  I  also 
noticed  it,  he  was  frightened  by  my  frown  into  say 
ing  that  her  feet  were  enormous.  How  silly !  .  .  . 
For  I  didn't  mean  to  frighten  him.  .  .  .  He 
frightened  me — once  or  twice — I  mean  he  irri 
tated  me — no,  interested  me,  is  what  I  do  mean. 
.  .  .  Heigho !  I  wonder  why  she  ran  away  ?  I 
wonder  why  he  can't  find  her?  .  .  .  It's — it's  silly 
to  run  away  from  a  man  like  that.  .  .  .  Heigho! 
.  .  .  She  doesn't  deserve  to  be  found;  There  is 
nothing  to  be  afraid  of — nothing  to  alarm  any 
body  in  a  man  like  that." 

So  she  gathered  up  her  notes  and  walked  slowly 
out  and  across  to  the  private  office  of  the  Tracer 
of  Lost  Persons. 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  Tracer  when  she  knocked. 
He  was  using  the  telephone;  she  seated  herself 
rather  listlessly  beside  the  window,  where  spring 
41 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST  PERSONS 

sunshine  lay  in  gilded  patches  on  the  rug  and 
spring  breezes  stirred  the  curtains.  She  was  a 
little  tired,  but  there  seemed  to  be  no  good  reason 
why.  Yet,  with  the  soft  wind  blowing  on  her 
cheek,  the  languor  grew ;  she  rested  her  face  on  one 
closed  hand,  shutting  her  eyes. 

When  they  opened  again  it  was  to  meet  the 
fixed  gaze  of  Mr.  Keen. 

"  Oh — I  beg  your  pardon !  " 

'There  is  no  need  of  it,  child.  Be  seated. 
Never  mind  that  report  just  now."  He  paced  the 
length  of  the  room  once  or  twice,  hands  clasped 
behind  him ;  then,  halting  to  confront  her  : 

''What  sort  of  a  man  is  this  young  Gate- 
wood?  " 

"What  sort,  Mr.  Keen?  Why— I  think  he  is 
the — the  sort — that " 

"I  see  that  you  don't  think  much  of  him," 
said  Keen,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  indeed  I  did  not  mean  that  at  all ;  I  mean 
that  he  appeared  to  be — to  be " 

"Rather  a  cad?" 

"  Why,  no  !  "  she  said,  flushing  up.  "  He  is 
absolutely  well-bred,  Mr.  Keen." 

6  You  received  no  unpleasant  impression  of 
him?" 

"  On  the  contrary !  "  she  said  rather  warmly — 
42 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

for  it  hurt  her  sense  of  justice  that  Keen  should 
so  misjudge  even  a  stranger  in  whom  she  had  no 
personal  interest. 

"  You  think  he  looks  like  an  honest  man?  " 
"Honest?"      She   was    rosy    with    annoyance. 
"  Have  you  any  idea  that  he  is  dishonest?  " 
"Have  you?" 

"  Not  the  slightest,"  she  said  with  emphasis. 
"  Suppose  a  man  should  set  us  hunting  for  a 
person  who  does  not  exist— on  our  terms,  which 
are  no  payment  unless  successful?     Would  that 
be  honest?  "  asked  Keen  gravely. 
"Did— did  he  do  that?" 
"  No,  child." 
"  I  knew  he  couldn't  do  such  a  thing !  " 

"  No,   he er  —  couldn't,  because  I  wouldn't 

allow  it— not  that  he  tried  to! "  added  Keen  has 
tily  as  the  indignant  brown  eyes  sparkled  omi 
nously.  "  Really,  Miss  Southerland,  he  must  be 
all  you  say  he  is,  for  he  has  a  stanch  champion 
to  vouch  for  him." 

"All   I   say  he   is?      I  haven't   said   anything 
about  him ! " 

Mr.  Keen  nodded.    "  Exactly.    Let  us  drop  him 
for  a  moment.  .  .  .  Are  you  perfectly  well,  Miss 
Southerland?" 
"  Why,  yes." 

43 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  I'm  glad  of  it.  You  are  a  trifle  pale ;  you 
seem  to  be  a  little  languid.  .  .  .  When  do  you 
take  your  vacation  ?  " 

"  You  suggested  May,  I  believe,"  she  said  wist 
fully. 

The  Tracer  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  joining  the 
tips  of  his  fingers  reflectively. 

"  Miss  Southerland,"  he  said,  "  you  have  been 
with  us  a  year.  I  thought  it  might  interest  you 
to  know  that  I  am  exceedingly  pleased  with 
you." 

She  colored  charmingly. 

"But,"  he  added,  "I'm  terribly  afraid  we're 
going  to  lose  you." 

"Why?"  she  asked,  startled. 

"  However,"  he  continued,  ignoring  her  half- 
frightened  question  with  a  smile,  "  I  am  going  to 
promote  you — for  faithful  and  efficient  service." 

"O-h!" 

"  With  an  agreeable  increase  of  salary,  and  new 
duties  which  will  take  you  into  the  open  air.  .  .  . 
You  ride?" 

"  I— I  used  to  before " 

"  Exactly ;    before   you    were   obliged   to   earn 

your  living.     Please  have  yourself  measured  for 

habit  and  boots  this  afternoon.     I  shall  arrange 

for  horse,  saddle,  and  groom.     You  will  spend 

44 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

most  of  your  time  riding  in  the  Park — for  the 
present." 

"  But — Mr.  Keen — am  I  to  be  one  of  your 
agents — a  sort  of  detective?  " 

Keen  regarded  her  absently,  then  crossed  one 
leg  over  the  other. 

"  Read  me  your  notes,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 

She  read  them,  folded  them,  and  he  took  them 
from  her,  thoughtfully  regarding  her. 

"  Did  you  know  that  your  mother  and  I  were 
children  together  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No !  "  She  stared.  "  Is  that  why  you  sent 
for  me  that  day  at  the  school  of  stenography  ?  " 

"  That  is  why.  .  .  .  When  I  learned  that  my 
playmate — your  mother — was  dead,  is  it  not  rea 
sonable  to  suppose  that  I  should  wish  her  daughter 
to  have  a  chance  ?  " 

Miss  Southerland  looked  at  him  steadily. 

"  She  was  like  you — when  she  married.  ...  I 
never  married.  .  .  .  Do  you  wonder  that  I  sent 
for  you,  child  ?  " 

Nothing  but  the  clock  ticking  there  in  the 
sunny  room,  and  an  old  man  staring  into  two 
dimmed  brown  eyes,  and  the  little  breezes  at  the 
open  window  whispering  of  summers  past. 

"  This  young  man,  Gatewood,"  said  the  Tracer, 
clearing  his  voice  of  its  hoarseness — "  this  young 
45 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST  PERSONS 

man  ought  to  be  all  right,  if  I  did  not  misjudge 
his  father — years  ago,  child,  years  ago.  And  he 

is  all  right "  He  half  turned  toward  a  big 

letter-file;  "his  record  is  clean,  so  far.  The 
trouble  with  him  is  idleness.  He  ought  to  marry." 

"  Isn't  he  trying  to?  "  she  asked. 

"  It  looks  like  it.  Miss  Southerland,  we  must 
find  this  woman !  " 

4  Yes,  but  I  don't  see  how  you  are  going  to — 
on  such  slight  information " 

"Information!  Child,  I  have  all  I  want — 
all  I  could  desire."  He  laughed,  passing  his 
hands  over  his  gray  hair.  "We  are  going  to 
find  the  girl  he  is  in  love  with  before  the  week 
ends ! " 

"  Do  you  really  think  so?  "  she  exclaimed. 

;<  Yes.  But  you  must  do  a  great  deal  in  this 
case." 

"  I  ?  " 

"  feictly." 

"  And — and  what  am  I  to  do?  " 

"  Ride  in  the  Park,  child !  And  if  you  see  Mr. 
Gatewood,  don't  you  dare  take  your  eyes  off  him 
for  one  moment.  Watch  him;  observe  everything 
he  does.  If  he  should  recognize  you  and  speak  to 
you,  be  as  amiable  to  him  as  though  it  were  not  by 
my  orders." 

46 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST  PERSONS 

"Then — then  I  am  to  be  a  detective!"  she 
faltered. 

The  Tracer  did  not  appear  to  hear  her.  He 
took  up  the  notes,  turned  to  the  telephone,  and 
began  to  send  out  a  general  alarm,  reading  the 
description  of  the  person  whom  Gatewood  had 
described.  The  vast,  intricate  and  delicate  ma 
chinery  under  his  control  was  being  set  in  motion 
all  over  the  Union. 

"  Not  that  I  expect  to  find  her  outside  the  bor 
ough  of  Manhattan,"  he  said,  smiling,  as  he  hung 
up  the  receiver  and  turned  to  her;  "but  it's  as 
well  to  know  how  many  types  of  that  species  exist 
in  this  Republic,  and  who  they  are — in  case  any 
other  young  man  comes  here  raving  of  brown  eyes 
and  6  gleams  '  in  the  hair." 

Miss  Southerland,  to  her  own  intense  consterna 
tion,  blushed. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  order  that  habit  at 
once,"  said  the  Tracer  carelessly. 

"Tell  me,  Mr.  Keen,"  she  asked  tremulously, 
"  am  I  to  spy  upon  Mr.  Gatewood  ?  And  report 
to  you?  .  .  .  For  I  simply  cannot  bear  to  do 

"  Child,  you  need  report  nothing  unless  you  de 
sire  to.     And  when  there  is  something  to  report, 
it  will  be  about  the  woman  I  am  searching  for. 
47 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

Don't  you  understand?  I  have  already  located 
her.  You  will  find  her  in  the  Park.  And  when 
you  are  sure  she  is  the  right  one— and  if  you  care 
to  report  it  to  me — I  shall  be  ready  to  listen.  .  .  . 
I  am  always  ready  to  listen  to  you." 

"  But — I  warn  you,  Mr.  Keen,  that  I  have  per 
fect  faith  in  the  honor  of  Mr.  Gatewood.  I  know 
that  I  could  have  nothing  unworthy  to  report." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Per 
sons,  studying  her  with  eyes  that  were  not  quite 
clear.  "  Now,  I  think  you  had  better  order  that 
habit.  .  .  .  Your  mother  sat  her  saddle  perfectly. 
.  .  .  We  rode  very  often — my  lost  playmate 
and  I." 

He  turned,  hands  clasped  behind  his  back,  ab 
sently  pacing  the  room,  backward,  forward,  there 
in  the  spring  sunshine.  Nor  did  he  notice  her  lin 
gering,  nor  mark  her  as  she  stole  from  the  room, 
brown  eyes  saddened  and  thoughtful,  wondering, 
too,  that  there  should  be  in  the  world  so  much 
room  for  sorrow. 


48 


I  am  sure  of  it/   said  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons." 


CHAPTER    V 

GATEWOOD,  burdened  with  restlessness  and 
gnawed  by  curiosity,  consumed  a  week  in  prowl 
ing  about  the  edifice  where  Keen  &  Co.  carried  on 
an  interesting  profession. 

His  first  visit  resulted  merely  in  a  brief  inter 
view  with  Mr.  Keen,  who  smilingly  reported 
progress  and  suavely  bowed  him  out.  He  looked 
about  for  Miss  Southerland  as  he  was  leaving,  but 
did  not  see  her. 

On  his  second  visit  he  mustered  the  adequate 
courage  to  ask  for  her,  and  experienced  a  curi 
ously  sickly  sensation  when  informed  that  Miss 
Southerland  was  no  longer  employed  in  the  bureau 
of  statistics,  having  been  promoted  to  an  outside 
position  of  great  responsibility.  His  third  visit 
proved  anything  but  satisfactory.  He  sidled  and 
side-stepped  for  ten  minutes  before  he  dared  ask 
Mr.  Keen  where  Miss  Southerland  had  gone.  And 
when  the  Tracer  replied  that,  considering  the 
business  he  had  undertaken  for  Mr.  Gatewood,  he 
really  could  not  see  why  Mr.  Gatewood  should  in- 
49 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST  PERSONS 

terest  himself  concerning  the  whereabouts  of  Miss 
Southerland,  the  young  man  had  nothing  to  say, 
and  escaped  as  soon  as  possible,  enraged  at  him 
self,  at  Mr.  Keen,  and  vaguely  holding  the  entire 
world  guilty  of  conspiracy. 

He  had  no  definite  idea  of  what  he  wanted,  ex 
cept  that  his  desire  to  see  Miss  Southerland  again 
seemed  out  of  all  proportion  to  any  reasonable 
motive  for  seeing  her.  Occasional  fits  of  disgust 
with  himself  for  what  he  had  done  were  varied  with 
moody  hours  of  speculation.  Suppose  Mr.  Keen 
did  find  his  ideal?  What  of  it?  He  no  longer 
wanted  to  see  her.  He  had  no  use  for  her.  The 
savor  of  the  enterprise  had  gone  stale  in  his 
mouth;  he  was  by  turns  worried,  restless,  melan 
choly,  sulky,  uneasy.  A  vast  emptiness  pervaded 
his  life.  He  smoked  more  and  more  and  ate  less 
and  less.  He  even  disliked  to  see  others  eat,  par 
ticularly  Kerns. 

And  one  exquisite  May  morning  he  came  down 
to  breakfast  and  found  the  unspeakable  Kerns  im 
mersed  in  grapefruit,  calm,  well  balanced,  and 
bland. 

"How-de-dee,  dear  friend?"  said  that  gen 
tleman  affably.  "Any  news  from  Cupid  this 
beautiful  May  morning?  " 

"  No ;  and  I  don't  want  any,"  returned  Gate- 
50 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

wood,  sorting  his  mail  with  a  scowl  and  waving 
away  his  fruit. 

"  Tut,  tut !  Lovers  must  be  patient.  Dearie 
will  be  found  some  day " 

"  Some  day,"  snarled  Gatewood,  "  I  shall  de 
stroy  you,  Tommy." 

"  Naughty !  Naughty !  "  reflected  Kerns,  pen 
sively  assaulting  the  breakfast  food.  "  Lovey 
must  TIO £  worry ;  Dovey  shall  be  found,  and  all  will 
be  joy  and  gingerbread.  ...  If  you  throw  that 
orange  I'll  run  screaming  to  the  governors. 
Aren't  you  ashamed — just  because  you're  in  a  love 
tantrum !  " 

"  One  more  word  and  you  get  it !  " 

"  May  I  sing  as  I  trifle  with  this  frugal  fare, 
dear  friend?  My  heart  is  so  happy  that  I  should 
love  to  warble  a  few  wild  notes " 

He  paused  to  watch  his  badgered  victim  dispose 
of  a  Martini. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  mused,  "  if  you'd  like  me  to  tell 
you  what  a  cocktail  before  breakfast  does  to  the 
lining  of  your  stomach?  Would  you?  " 

"  No.  I  suppose  it's  what  the  laundress  does  to 
my  linen.  What  do  I  care?  " 

"  Don't  be  a  short  sport,  Jack." 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  for  the  game  you  put  me 
up  against.  Do  you  know  what  has  happened?  " 
51 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"I  really  don't,  dear  friend.  The  Tracer  of 
Lost  Persons  has  not  found  her — has  he?  " 

"  He  says  he  has,"  retorted  Gatewood  sullenly, 
pulling  a  crumpled  telegram  from  his  pocket  and 
casting  it  upon  the  table.  "  I  don't  want  to  see 
her;  I'm  not  interested.  I  never  saw  but  one  girl 
in  my  life  who  interested  me  in  the  slightest ;  and 
she's  employed  to  help  in  this  ridiculous  search." 

Kerns,  meanwhile,  had  smoothed  out  the  tele 
gram  and  was  intently  perusing  it: 

"John  Gatewood,  Lenox  Club,  Fifth  Avenue: 

"  Person  probably  discovered.  Call  here  as  soon  as 
possible.  W.  KEEN." 

"  What  do  you  make  of  that  ?  "  demanded  Gate- 
wood  hoarsely. 

"  Make  of  it?  Why,  it's  true  enough,  I  fancy. 
Go  and  see,  and  if  it's  she,  be  hers !  " 

"  I  won't !  I  don't  want  to  see  any  ideal !  I 
don't  want  to  marry.  Why  do  you  try  to  make 
me  marry  somebody  ?  " 

"  Because  it's  good  for  you,  dear  friend. 
Otherwise  you'll  go  to  the  doggy-dogs.  You 
don't  realize  how  much  worry  you  are  to  me." 

"  Confound  it!     Why  don't  you  marry?     Why 

didn't  I  ask  you  that  when  you  put  me  up  to  all 

this  foolishness  ?    What  right  have  you 

52 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Tut,  friend !  7  know  there's  no  woman  alive 
fit  to  wed  me  and  spend  her  life  in  stealing  kisses 
from  me.  /  have  no  ideal.  You  have  an  ideal." 

"I  haven't!" 

"  Oh,  yes,  dear  friend,  there's  a  stub  in  your 
check  book  to  prove  it.  You  simply  bet  $5,000 
that  your  ideal  existed.  You've  won.  Go  and  be 
her  joy  and  sunshine." 

"  I'll  put  an  end  to  this  whole  business,"  said 
Gatewood  wrathf ully,  "  and  I'll  do  it  now !  " 

"  Bet  you  that  you're  engaged  within  the 
week !  "  said  Kerns  with  a  placid  smile. 

The  other  swung  around  savagely :  "  What  will 
you  bet,  Tommy?  You  may  have  what  odds  you 
please.  I'll  make  you  sit  up  for  this." 

"  I'll  bet  you,"  answered  Kerns,  deliberately, 
"  an  entire  silver  dinner  service  against  a  saddle 
horse  for  the  bride." 

"That's  a  fool  bet!"  snapped  Gatewood. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  if  you  don't  care  to " 

"  What  do  I  want  of  a  silver  service?  But,  all 
right ;  I'll  bet  you  anything." 

"  She'll  want  it,"  replied  Kerns  significantly, 
booking  the  bet.  "  I  may  as  well  canter  out  to 
Tiffany's  this  morning,  I  fancy.  .  .  .  Where  are 
you  going,  Jack?  " 

53 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  To  see  Keen  and  confess  what  an  ass  I've 
been ! "  returned  Gatewood  sullenly,  striding 
across  the  breakfast  room  to  take  his  hat  and 
gloves  from  the  rack.  And  out  he  went,  mad  all 
over. 

On  his  way  up  the  avenue  he  attempted  to 
formulate  the  humiliating  confession  which  al 
ready  he  shrank  from.  But  it  had  to  be  done.  He 
simply  could  not  stand  the  prospect  of  being  no 
tified  month  after  month  that  a  lady  would  be  on 
view  somewhere.  It  was  like  going  for  a  fitting; 
it  was  horrible.  Besides,  what  use  was  it  ?  Within 
a  week  or  two  an  enormous  and  utterly  inexplicable 
emptiness  had  yawned  before  him,  revealing  life 
as  a  hollow  delusion.  He  no  longer  cared. 

Immersed  in  bitter  reflection,  he  climbed  the 
familiar  stairway  and  sent  his  card  to  Mr.  Keen, 
and  in  due  time  he  was  ushered  into  the  presence 
of  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons. 

"  Mr.  Keen,"  he  began,  with  a  headlong  desire 
to  get  it  over  and  be  done  with  it,  "  I  may  as  well 
tell  you  how  impossible  it  is  for  you,  or  anybody, 
to  find  that  person  I  described " 

Mr.  Keen  raised  an  expostulatory  hand,  smiling 
indulgence. 

"  It  is  more  than  possible,  Mr.  Gatewood,  more 
than  probable;  it  is  almost  an  accomplished  fact. 
54 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

In  other  words,  I  think  I  may  venture  to  congratu 
late  you  and  say  that  she  is  found." 

"  Now,  how  can  she  be  found,  when  there 
isn't- " 

"  Mr.  Gatewood,  the  magician  will  always  wave 
his  magic  wand  for  you  and  show  you  his  miracles 
for  the  price  of  admission.  But  for  that  price  he 
does  not  show  you  how  he  works  his  miracles," 
said  Keen,  laughing. 

"  But  I  ought  to  tell  you,"  persisted  Gatewood, 
"  that  it  is  utterly  impossible  you  should  find  the 
person  I  wished  to  discover,  because  she " 

"  I  can  only  prove  that  you  are  wrong,"  smiled 
Keen,  rising  from  his  easy  chair. 

"  Mr.  Keen,"  said  the  young  man  earnestly,  "  I 
have  been  more  or  less  of  a  chump  at  times.  One 
of  those  times  was  when  I  came  here  on  this  er 
rand.  All  I  desire,  now,  is  to  let  the  matter  rest 
as  it  is.  I  am  satisfied,  and  you  have  lost  nothing. 
Nor  have  you  found  anything  or  anybody.  You 
think  you  have,  but  you  haven't.  I  do  not  wish 
you  to  continue  the  search,  or  to  send  me  any  fur 
ther  reports.  I  want  to  forget  the  whole  miserable 
matter — to  be  free — to  feel  myself  freed  from  any 
obligations  to  that  irritating  person  I  asked  you 
to  find." 

The  Tracer  regarded  him  very  gravely. 
5  55 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"Is  that  your  wish,  Mr.  Gatewood?  I  can 
scarcely  credit  it." 

"  It  is.  I've  been  a  fool ;  I  simply  want  to  stop 
being  one  if  anybody  will  permit  it." 

"  And  you  decline  to  attempt  to  identify  the 
very  beautiful  person  we  have  discovered  to  be  the 
individual  for  whom  you  asked  us  to  search?  " 

"  I  do.  She  may  be  beautiful ;  but  I  know  well 
enough  she  can't  compare  with — some  one." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Keen  thoughtfully.  "  We 
take  so  much  pride  in  these  matters.  When  one 
of  my  agents  discovered  where  this  person  was,  I 
was  rather — happy;  for  I  have  taken  a  peculiar 
personal  interest  in  your  case.  However " 

"  Mr.  Keen,"  said  Gatewood,  "  if  you  could  un 
derstand  how  ashamed  and  mortified  I  am  at  my 
own  conduct " 

Keen  gazed  pensively  out  of  the  window.  "  I 
also  am  sorry;  Miss  Southerland  was  to  have  re 
ceived  a  handsome  bonus  for  her  discovery " 

"Miss  S-S-S-S-outherland!" 

"  .Exactly ;  without  quite  so  many  *S"s,"  said 
Keen,  smiling. 

"Did  she  discover  that — that  person?"  ex 
claimed  the  young  man,  startled. 

"  She  thinks  she  has.    I  am  not  sure  she  is  cor 
rect  ;  but  I  am  absolutely  certain  that  Miss  South- 
56 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

erland  could  eventually  discover  the  person  you 
were  in  search  o£.  It  seems  a  little  hard  on  her— 
just  on  the  eve  of  success — to  lose.  But  that  can't 
be  helped  now." 

Gatewood,  more  excited  and  uncomfortable  than 
he  had  ever  been  in  all  his  life,  watched  Keen 
intently. 

"  Too  bad,  too  bad,"  muttered  the  Tracer  to 
himself.  "The  child  needs  the  encouragement. 
It  meant  a  thousand  dollars  to  her—  He 

shrugged  his  shoulders,  looked  up,  and,  as  though 
rather  surprised  to  see  Gatewood  still  there,  smiled 
an  impersonal  smile  and  offered  his  hand  in  adieu. 
Gatewood  winced. 

"  Could  I — I  see  Miss  Southerland?  "  he  asked. 
"  I  am  afraid  not.     She  is  at  this  moment  fol 
lowing  my  instructions  to — but  that   cannot  in 
terest  you  now " 

"  Yes,  it  does ! — if  you  don't  mind.  Where  is 
she?  I — I'll  take  a  look  at  the  person  she  discov 
ered  ;  I  will,  really." 

"Why,  it's  only  this:  I  suspected  that  you 
might  identify  a  person  whom  I  had  reason  to 
believe  was  to  be  found  every  morning  riding  in 
the  Park.  So  Miss  Southerland  has  been  riding 
there  every  day.  Yesterday  she  came  here, 

greatly  excited " 

57 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Yes — yes — go  on !  " 

Keen  gazed  dreamily  at  the  sunny  window. 
"  She  thought  she  had  found  your — er — the  per 
son.  So  I  said  you  would  meet  her  on  the  bridle 

path,  near — but  that's  of  no  interest  now " 

"  Near  where?  "  demanded  Gatewood,  suppress 
ing  inexplicable  excitement.  And  as  Keen  said 
nothing:  "I'll  go;  I  want  to  go,  I  really  do! 
Can't — can't  a  fellow  change  his  mind?  Oh,  I 
know  you  think  I'm  a  lunatic,  and  there's  plenty 
of  reason,  too !  " 

Keen  studied  him  calmly.  "  Yes,  plenty  of  rea 
son,  plenty  of  reason,  Mr.  Gatewood.  But  do  you 
suppose  you  are  the  only  one?  I  know  another 
who  was  perfectly  sane  two  weeks  ago." 

The  young  man  waited  impatiently ;  the  Tracer 
paced  the  room,  gray  head  bent,  delicate,  wrinkled 
hands  clasped  loosely  behind  his  bent  back. 

"  You  have  horses  at  the  Whip  and  Spur  Club," 
he  said  abruptly.  "  Suppose  you  ride  out  and  see 
how  close  Miss  Southerland  has  come  to  solving 
our  problem." 

Gatewood  seized  the  offered  hand  and  wrung  it 
with  a  fervor  out  of  all  reason ;  and  it  is  curious 
that  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  did  not  appear  to 
be  astonished. 

"  You're  rather  impetuous — like  your  father," 
58 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

he  said  slowly,  "I  knew  him;  so  I've  ventured 
to  trust  his  son — even  when  I  heard  how  aimlessly 
he  was  living  his  life.  Mr.  Gatewood!  May  I 
ask  you  something — as  an  old  friend  of  your 
father?" 

The  young  man  nodded,  subdued,  perplexed, 
scarcely  understanding. 

"  It's  only  this :  If  you  do  find  the  woman  you 
could  love — in  the  Park — to-day — come  back  to 
me  some  day  and  let  me  tell  you  all  those  foolish, 
trite,  tiresome  things  that  I  should  have  told  a 
son  of  mine.  I  am  so  old  that  you  will  not  take 
Offense — yOU  will  not  mind  listening  to  me,  or  for 
getting  the  dull,  prosy  things  I  say  about  the 
curse  of  idleness,  and  the  habits  of  cynical  think 
ing,  and  the  perils  of  vacant-minded  indulgence. 
You  will  forgive  me — and  you  will  forget  me. 
That  will  be  as  it  should  be.  Good-by." 

Gatewood,  sobered,  surprised,  descended  the 
stairs  and  hailed  a  hansom. 


59 


CHAPTER    VI 

ALL  the  way  to  the  Whip  and  Spur  Club  he 
sat  buried  in  a  reverie  from  which,  at  intervals,  he 
started,  aroused  by  the  heavy,  expectant  beating 
of  his  own  pulses.  But  what  did  he  expect,  in 
Heaven's  name?  Not  the  discovery  of  a  woman 
who  had  never  existed.  Yet  his  excitement  and 
impatience  grew  as  he  watched  the  saddling  of  his 
horse;  and  when  at  length  he  rode  out  into  the 
sunshine  and  cantered  through  the  Park  entrance, 
his  sense  of  impending  events  and  his  expectancy 
amounted  to  a  fever  which  colored  his  face  at 
tractively. 

He  saw  her  almost  immediately.  Her  horse  was 
walking  slowly  in  the  dappled  shadows  of  the 
new  foliage;  she,  listless  in  her  saddle,  sometimes 
watching  the  throngs  of  riders  passing,  at  mo 
ments  turning  to  gaze  into  the  woodland  vistas 
where,  over  the  thickets  of  flowering  shrubbery, 
orioles  and  robins  sped  flashing  on  tinted  wings 
from  shadow  to  sun,  from  sun  to  shadow.  But  she 
looked  up  as  he  drew  bridle  and  wheeled  his  mount 
60 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

beside   her;    and,    "Oh!"    she    said,    flushing    in 
recognition. 

"I  have  missed  you  terribly,"  he  said  quietly. 
It  was  dreamy  weather,  even  for  late  spring: 
the  scent  of  lilacs  and  mock-orange  hung  heavy 
as  incense  along  the  woods.     Their  voices  uncon 
sciously  found  the  key  to  harmonize  with  it  all. 

She  said :  "  Well,  I  think  I  have  succeeded.  In 
a  few  moments  she  will  be  passing.  I  do  not  know 
her  name ;  she  rides  a  big  roan.  She  is  very  beau 
tiful,  Mr.  Gatewood." 

He  said :  "  I  am  perfectly  certain  we  shall  find 
her.    I  doubted  it  until  now.    But  now  I  know." 
"  Oh-h,  but  I  may  be  wrong,"  she  protested. 
"  No ;  you  cannot  be." 
She  looked  up  at  him. 

"  You  can  have  no  idea  how  happy  you  make 
me,"  he  said  unsteadily. 

«  But — I — but  I  may  be  all  wrong — dreadfully 
wrong ! " 

"  Y-es ;  you  may  be,  but  I  shall  not  be.  For 
do  you  know  that  I  have  already  seen  her  in  the 
Park?" 

"When?"    she    demanded    incredulously,    then 
turned  in  the  saddle,  repeating:  "Where?     Did 
she  pass  ?    How  perfectly  stupid  of  me !    And  was 
she  the — the  right  one?  " 
61 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST  PERSONS 

"  She  is  the  right  one.  .  .  .  Don't  turn :  I  have 
seen  her.  Ride  on:  I  want  to  say  something — if 
I  can." 

"  No,  no,"  she  insisted.  "  I  must  know  whether 
I  was  right " 

"  You  are  right — but  you  don't  know  it  yet. 
.  .  .  Oh,  very  well,  then ;  we'll  turn  if  you  insist." 
And  he  wheeled  his  mount  as  she  did,  riding  at 
her  bridle  again. 

"  How  can  you  take  it  so  coolly — so  indiffer 
ently?"  she  said.  "Where  has  that  woman — 
where  has  she  gone?  .  .  .  Never  mind;  she  must 
turn  and  pass  us  sooner  or  later,  for  she  lives  up 
town.  What  are  you  laughing  at,  Mr.  Gate- 
wood  ?  " — in  annoyed  surprise. 

"  I  am  laughing  at  myself.  Oh,  I'm  so  many 
kinds  of  a  fool — you  can't  think  how  many,  and 
it's  no  use !  " 

She  stared,  astonished;  he  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  you  don't  understand  yet.  But  you  will. 
Listen  to  me:  this  very  beautiful  lady  you  have 
discovered  is  nothing  to  me !  " 

"  Nothing — to  you !  "  she  faltered.  Two  pink 
spots  of  indignation  burned  in  her  cheeks.  "  How 
— how  dare  you  say  that ! — after  all  that  has  been 
done — all  that  you  have  said.  You  said  you  loved 
her;  you  did  say  so — to  me!  " 
62 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  I  don't  love  her  now." 

"  But  you  did ! "  Tears  of  pure  vexation 
started;  she  faced  him,  eye  to  eye,  thoroughly 
incensed. 

"  What  sort  of  man  are  you?  "  she  said  under 
her  breath.  "  Your  friend  Mr.  Kerns  is  wrong. 
You  are  not  worth  saving  from  yourself." 

"  Kerns ! "  he  repeated,  angry  and  amazed. 
"  What  the  deuce  has  Kerns  to  do  with  this 
affair?" 

She  stared,  then,  realizing  her  indiscretion,  bit 
her  lip,  and  spurred  forward.  But  he  put  his 
horse  to  a  gallop,  and  they  pounded  along  in 
silence.  In  a  little  while  she  drew  bridle  and  looked 
around  coldly,  grave  with  displeasure. 

"  Mr.  Kerns  came  to  us  before  you  did.  He 
said  you  would  probably  come,  and  he  begged  us 
to  strain  every  effort  in  your  behalf,  because,  he 
said,  your  happiness  absolutely  depended  upon  our 
finding  for  you  the  woman  you  were  seeking.  .  .  . 
And  I  tried — very  hard — and  now  she's  found. 
You  admit  that — and  now  you  say " 

"  I  say  that  one  of  these  balmy  summer  days 
I'll  assassinate  Tommy  Kerns !  "  broke  in  Gate- 
wood.  "  What  on  earth  possessed  that  prince  of 
butters-in  to  go  to  Mr.  Keen  ?  " 

"  To   save  you   from  yourself ! "   retorted  the 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

girl  in  a  low,  exasperated  voice.  "  He  did  not  say 
what  threatened  you;  he  is  a  good  friend  for  a 
man  to  have.  But  we  soon  found  out  what  you 
were— a  man  well  born,  well  bred,  full  of  brilliant 
possibility,  who  was  slowly  becoming  an  idle,  cyni 
cal,  self-centered  egoist — a  man  who,  lacking  the 
lash  of  need  or  the  spur  of  ambition,  was  degen 
erating  through  the  sheer  uselessness  and  inanity 
of  his  life.  And,  oh,  the  pity  of  it !  For  Mr.  Keen 
and  I  have  taken  a — a  curiously  personal  interest 
in  you — in  your  case.  I  say,  the  pity  of  it !  " 

Astounded,  dumb  under  her  stinging  words,  he 
rode  beside  her  through  the  brilliant  sunshine, 
wheeled  mechanically  as  she  turned  her  horse,  and 
rode  north  again. 

"  And  now  —  now  !  "  she  said  passionately, 
"  you  turn  on  the  woman  you  loved !  Oh,  you  are 
not  worth  it !  " 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  he  said,  turning  very 
white  under  her  scorn.  "  Almost  all  you  have  said 
is  true  enough,  I  fancy.  I  amount  to  nothing ;  I 
am  idle,  cynical,  selfish.  The  emptiness  of  such  a 
life  requires  a  stimulant;  even  a  fool  abhors  a 
vacuum.  So  I  drink — not  so  very  much  yet — but 
more  than  I  realize.  And  it  is  close  enough  to 
a  habit  to  worry  me.  .  .  .  Yes,  almost  all  you  say 
is  true ;  Kerns  knows  it ;  I  know  it — now  that  you 
64 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST   PERSONS 

have  told  me.  You  see,  he  couldn't  tell  me,  because 
I  should  not  have  believed  him.  But  I  believe  you 

all  you  say,  except  one  thing.    And  that  is  only 

a  glimmer  of  decency  left  in  me — not  that  I  make 
any  merit  of  it.  No,  it  is  merely  instinctive.  For 
I  have  not  turned  on  the  woman  I  loved." 

Her  face  was  pale  as  her  level  eyes  met  him : 

"  You  said  she  was  nothing  to  you.  .  .  .  Look 
there!  Do  you  see  her?  Do  you  see?  " 

Her  voice  broke  nervously  as  he  swung  around 
to  stare  at  a  rider  bearing  down  at  a  gallop — a 
woman  on  a  big  roan,  tearing  along  through  the 
spring  sunshine,  passing  them  with  wind-flushed 
cheeks  and  dark,  incurious  eyes,  while  her  power 
ful  horse  carried  her  on,  away  through  the  quiv< 
ering  light  and  shadow  of  the  woodland  vista. 

"Is  that  the  person?" 

"  Y-es,"  she  faltered.     "  Was  I  wrong?  " 

"  Quite  wrong,  Miss  Southerland." 

«  But — but  you  said  you  had  seen  her  here  this 
morning !  " 

"  Yes,  I  have." 

"  Did  you  speak  to  her  before  you  met  me?  " 

"  No — not  before  I  met  you." 

"  Then  you  have  not  spoken  to  her.    Is  she  still 
herein  the  Park?" 

"  Yes,  she  is  still  here." 
65 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

The  girl  turned  on  him  excitedly :  "  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  you  will  not  speak  to  her  ?  " 

"  I  had  rather  not " 

"  And  your  happiness  depends  on  your  speak 
ing?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  it  is  cowardly  not  to  speak." 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  is  cowardly.  ...  If  you  wish  me 
to  speak  to  her  I  will.  Shall  I?  " 

"  Yes.  .  .  .   Show  her  to  me." 

"  And  you  think  that  such  a  man  as  I  am  has 
a  right  to  speak  of  love  to  her  ?  " 

"  I — we  believe  it  will  be  your  salvation.  Mr. 
Kerns  says  you  must  marry  her  to  be  happy.  Mr. 
Keen  told  me  yesterday  that  it  only  needed  a  word 
from  the  right  woman  to  put  you  on  your  mettle. 
.  .  .  And — and  that  is  my  opinion." 

"  Then  in  charity  say  that  word !  "  he  breathed, 
bending  toward  her.  "  Can't  you  see?  Can't  you 
understand?  Don't  you  know  that  from  the  mo 
ment  I  looked  into  your  eyes  I  loved  you  ?  " 

"  How — how  dare  you !  "  she  stammered,  crim 
soning. 

"God  knows,"  he  said  wistfully.  "  I  am  a 
coward.  I  don't  know  how  I  dared.  Good- 
by.  .  .  ." 

He  walked  his  horse  a  little  way,  then  launched 
66 


Then  in  charity  say  that  word  ! '  ' 

[Page  66] 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

him  into  a  gallop,  tearing  on  and  on,  sun,  wind, 
trees  swimming,  whirling  like  a  vision,  hearing 
nothing,  feeling  nothing,  save  the  leaden  pound 
ing  of  his  pulse  and  the  breathless,  terrible  tight 
ening  in  his  throat. 

When  he  cleared  his  eyes  and  looked  around  he 
was  quite  alone,  his  horse  walking  under  the  trees 
and  breathing  heavily. 

At  first  he  laughed,  and  the  laugh  was  not 
pleasant.  Then  he  said  aloud :  "  It  is  worth  hav 
ing  lived  for,  after  all !  " — and  was  silent.  And 
again :  "  I  could  expect  nothing ;  she  was  perfectly 
right  to  side-step  a  fool.  .  .  .  And  such  a  fool !  " 

The  distant  gallop  of  a  horse,  dulled  on  the  soft 
soil,  but  coming  nearer,  could  not  arouse  him  from 
the  bitter  depths  he  had  sunk  in ;  not  even  when  the 
sound  ceased  beside  him,  and  horse  snorted  recog 
nition  to  horse.  It  was  only  when  a  light  touch 
rested  on  his  arm  that  he  looked  up  heavily, 
caught  his  breath. 

"  Where  is  the  other — woman  ?  "  she  gasped. 

"  There  never  was  any  other." 
.      «  You  said " 

"  I  said  I  loved  my  ideal.  I  did  not  know  she 
existed — until  I  saw  you." 

"  Then — then  we  were  searching  for " 

"  A  vision.     But  it  was  your  face  that  haunted 
67 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

me.  .  .  .  And  I  am  not  worth  it,  as  you  say.    And 
I  know  it,  ...  for  you  have  opened  my  eyes." 

He  drew  bridle,  forcing  a  laugh.  "  I  cut  a 
sorry  figure  in  your  life ;  be  patient ;  I  am  going 
out  of  it  now."  And  he  swung  his  horse.  At  the 
same  moment  she  did  the  same,  making  a  demi- 
tour  and  meeting  him  halfway,  confronting  him. 

"  Do  you — you  mean  to  ride  out  of  my  life 
without  a  word  ?  "  she  asked  unsteadily. 

"  Good-by."  He  offered  his  hand,  stirring  his 
horse  forward;  she  leaned  lightly  over  and  laid 
both  hands  in  his.  Then,  her  face  surging  in 
color,  she  lifted  her  beautiful  dark  eyes  to  his  as 
the  horses  approached,  nearer,  nearer,  until,  as 
they  passed,  flank  brushing  flank,  her  eyes  fell, 
then  closed  as  she  swayed  toward  him,  and  clung, 
her  young  lips  crushed  to  his. 

There  was  nobody  to  witness  it  except  the  birds 
and  squirrels — nobody  but  a  distant  mounted  po 
liceman,  who  almost  fainted  away  in  his  saddle. 

Oh,  it  was  awful,  awful!  Apparently  she  had 
been  kissed  speechless,  for  she  said  nothing.  The 
man  fool  did  all  the  talking,  incoherently  enough, 
but  evidently  satisfactory  to  her,  judging  from 
the  way  she  looked  at  him,  and  blushed  and 
blushed,  and  touched  her  eyes  with  a  bit  of  cam 
bric  at  intervals. 

68 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

All  the  policeman  heard  as  they  passed  him  was : 
"  I'm  going  to  give  you  this  horse,  and  Kerns  is 
to  give  us  our  silver ;  and  what  do  you  think,  my 
darling?" 

"W-what?" 

But  they  had  already  passed  out  of  earshot; 
and  in  a  few  moments  the  shady,  sun-flecked  bridle 
path  was  deserted  again  save  for  the  birds  and 
squirrels,  and  a  single  mounted  policeman,  rigid, 
wild  eyed,  twisting  his  mustache  and  breathing 
hard. 


69 


CHAPTER    VII 

THE  news  of  Gatewood's  fate  filled  Kerns  with 
a  pleasure  bordering  upon  melancholy.  It  was  his 
work;  he  had  done  it;  it  was  good  for  Gatewood 
too — time  for  him  to  stop  his  irresponsible  cruise 
through  life,  lower  sail,  heave  to,  set  his  signals, 
and  turn  over  matters  to  this  charming  pilot. 

And  now  they  would  come  into  port  together 
and  anchor  somewhere  east  of  Fifth  Avenue — 
which,  Kerns  reflected,  was  far  more  proper  a  place 
for  Gatewood  than  somewhere  east  of  Suez,  where 
young  men  so  often  sail. 

And  yet,  and  yet  there  was  something  melan 
choly  in  the  pleasure  he  experienced.  Gatewood 
was  practically  lost  to  him.  He  knew  what  might 
be  expected  from  engaged  men  and  newly  married 
men.  Gatewood's  club  life  was  ended — for  a  while ; 
and  there  was  no  other  man  with  whom  he  cared  to 
embark  for  those  brightly  lighted  harbors  twin 
kling  east  of  Suez  across  the  metropolitan  wastes. 

"  It's  very  generous  of  me  to  get  him  married," 

he  said  frequently  to  himself,  rather  sadly.     "  I 

did  it  pretty  well,  too.     It  only  shows  that  women 

have   no   particular   monopoly   in   the   realms   of 

70 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

diplomacy  and  finesse;  in  fact,  if  a  man  really 
chooses  to  put  his  mind  to  such  matters,  he  can 
make  it  no  trumps  and  win  out  behind  a  bum  ace 
and  a  guarded  knave." 

He  was  pleased  with  himself.  He  followed  Gate- 
wood  about  explaining  how  good  he  had  been  to 
him.  An  enthusiasm  for  marrying  off  his  friends 
began  to  germinate  within  him ;  he  tried  it  on  Dar- 
rell,  on  Barnes,  on  Yates,  but  was  turned  down  and 
severely  stung. 

Then  one  day  Harren  of  the  Philippine  Scouts 
turned  up  at  the  club,  and  they  held  a  determined 
reunion  until  daylight,  and  they  told  each  other 
all  about  it  all  and  what  upper-cuts  life  had 
handed  out  to  them  since  the  troopship  sailed. 

And  after  the  rosy  glow  had  deepened  to  a 
more  gorgeous  hue  in  the  room,  and  the  electric 
lights  had  turned  into  silver  pinwheels ;  and  after 
they  had  told  each  other  the  story  of  their  lives, 
and  the  last  siphon  fizzed  impotently  when  urged 
beyond  its  capacity,  Kerns  arose  and  extended  his 
hand,  and  Harren  took  it.  And  they  executed  a 
song  resembling  "  Auld  Lang  Syne." 

"  Ole  man,"  said  Kerns  reproachfully,  "  there's 
one  thing  you  have  been  deuced  careful  not  to 
mention,  and  that  is  about  what  happened  to  you 

three  years  ago " 

6  71 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Steady !  "  said  Harren ;  "  there  is  nothing  to 
tell,  Tommy." 

"  Nothing?  " 

"  Nothing.  I  never  saw  her  again.  I  never 
shall." 

Kerns  looked  long  and  unsteadily  upon  his 
friend;  then  very  gravely  fumbled  in  his  pocket 
and  drew  forth  the  business  card  of  Westrel  Keen, 
Tracer  of  Lost  Persons. 

"  That,"  he  said,  "  will  be  about  all."  And  he 
bestowed  the  card  upon  Harren  with  magnificent 
condescension. 

And  about  five  o'clock  the  following  afternoon 
Harren  found  the  card  among  various  effects  of 
his,  scattered  over  his  dresser. 

It  took  him  several  days  to  make  up  his  mind 
to  pay  any  attention  to  the  card  or  the  suggestion 
it  contained.  He  scarcely  considered  it  seriously 
even  when,  passing  along  Fifth  Avenue  one  sunny 
afternoon,  he  chanced  to  glance  up  and  see  the 
sign 

KEEN  &  CO. 
TRACERS  OF  LOST  PERSONS 

staring  him  in  the  face. 

He  continued  his  stroll,  but  that  evening,  upon 
mere  impulse,  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to 
Mr.  Keen. 

72 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

The  next  morning's  mail  brought  a  reply  and 
an  appointment  for  an  interview  on  Wednesday 
week.  Harren  tossed  the  letter  aside,  satisfied  to 
let  the  matter  go,  because  his  leave  expired  on 
Tuesday,  and  the  appointment  was  impossible. 

On  Sunday,  however,  the  melancholy  of  the  de 
serted  club  affected  his  spirits.  A  curious  desire 
to  see  this  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  seized  him  with 
a  persistence  unaccountable.  He  slept  poorly, 
haunted  with  visions. 

On  Monday  he  went  to  see  Mr.  Keen.  It  could 
do  no  harm ;  it  was  too  late  to  do  either  harm  or 
good,  for  his  leave  expired  the  next  day  at  noon. 

The  business  of  Keen  &  Co.,  Tracers  of  Lost 
Persons,  had  grown  to  enormous  proportions ;  ap 
pointments  for  a  personal  interview  with  Mr.  Keen 
were  now  made  a  week  in  advance,  so  when  young 
Harren  sent  in  his  card,  the  gayly  liveried  negro 
servant  came  back  presently,  threading  his  way 
through  the  waiting  throng  with  pomp  and  cir 
cumstance,  and  returned  the  card  to  Harren  with 
the  date  of  appointment  rewritten  in  ink  across  the 
top.  The  day  named  was  Wednesday.  On  Tues 
day  Harren's  leave  expired. 

"  That     won't     do,"     said     the     young     man 
brusquely ;    "  I    must    see   Mr.    Keen    to-day.      I 
wrote  last  week  for  an  appointment." 
73 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

The  liveried  darky  was  polite  but  obdurate. 

"  Dis  here  am  de  'pintment,  suh,"  he  explained 
persuasively. 

"  But  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Keen  at  once,"  insisted 
Harren. 

"  Hit  ain't  no  use,  suh,"  said  the  darky  respect 
fully;  "  dey's  mi'ions  an'  mi'ions  ob  gemmen  jess 
a-settin'  roun'  an'  waitin'  foh  Mistuh  Keen.  In 
dis  here  perfeshion,  suh,  de  fustest  gemman  dat 
has  a  'pintment  is  de  fustest  gemman  dat  kin  see 
Mistuh  Keen.  You  is  a  military  gemman  yohse'f, 
Cap'm  Harren,  an'  you  is  aware  dat  precedence 
am  de  rigger." 

The  bronzed  young  man  smiled,  glanced  at  the 
date  of  appointment  written  on  his  card,  which 
also  bore  his  own  name  followed  by  the  letters 
U.  S.  A.,  then  his  amused  gray  eyes  darkened  and 
he  glanced  leisurely  around  the  room,  where  a 
dozen  or  more  assorted  people  sat  waiting  their 
turns  to  interview  Mr.  Keen:  all  sorts  and  condi 
tions  of  people — smartly  gowned  women,  an  anx 
ious-browed  business  man  or  two,  a  fat  German 
truck  driver,  his  greasy  cap  on  his  knees,  a  surly 
policeman,  and  an  old  Irishwoman,  wearing  a 
shawl  and  an  ancient  straw  bonnet.  Harren's 
eyes  reverted  to  the  darky. 

"  You  will  explain  to  Mr.  Keen,"  he  said,  "  that 
74 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

I  am  an  army  officer  on  leave,  and  that  I  am 
obliged  to  start  for  Manila  to-morrow.  This  is 
my  excuse  for  asking  an  immediate  interview ;  and 
if  it's  not  a  good  enough  excuse  I  must  cancel  this 
appointment,  that  is  all." 

The  darky  stood,  irresolute,  inclined  to  argue, 
but  something  in  the  steel-gray  eyes  of  the  man 
set  him  in  involuntary  motion,  and  he  went  away 
once  more  with  the  young  man's  message.  Harren 
turned  and  walked  back  to  his  seat.  The  old 
woman  with  the  faded  shawl  was  explaining  volubly 
to  a  handsomely  gowned  woman  beside  her  that  she 
was  looking  for  her  boy,  Danny;  that  her  name 
was  Mrs.  Regan,  and  that  she  washed  for  the  aris 
tocracy  of  Hunter's  Point  at  a  liberal  price  per 
dozen,  using  no  deleterious  substances  in  the  suds 
as  Heaven  was  her  witness. 

The  German  truck  driver,  moved  by  this  confi 
dence,  was  stirred  to  begin  an  endless  account  of 
his  domestic  misfortunes,  and  old  Mrs.  Regan,  be 
coming  impatient,  had  already  begun  to  interrupt 
with  an  account  of  Regan's  recent  hoisting  on  the 
wings  of  a  premature  petard,  when  the  dark  serv 
ant  reappeared. 

"  Mistuh  Keen  will  receive  you,  suh,"  he  whis 
pered,  leading  the  way  into  a  large  room  where 
dozens  of  attractive  young  girls  sat  very  busily 
75 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST  PERSONS 

engaged  at  typewriting  machines.  Door  after 
door  they  passed,  all  numbered  on  the  ground- 
glass  panes,  then  swung  to  the  right,  where  the 
darky  bowed  him  into  a  big,  handsomely  furnished 
room  flooded  with  the  morning  sun.  A  tall,  gray 
man,  faultlessly  dressed  in  a  gray  frock  suit  and 
wearing  white  spats,  turned  from  the  breezy,  open 
window  to  inspect  him;  the  lean,  well  groomed, 
rather  lank  type  of  gentleman  suggesting  a  re 
tired  colonel  of  cavalry;  unmistakably  well  bred 
from  the  ends  of  his  drooping  gray  mustache  to 
the  last  button  on  his  immaculate  spats. 

"  Captain  Harren  ?  "  he  said  pleasantly. 

"Mr.  Keen?" 

They  bowed.  Young  Harren  drew  from  his 
pocket  a  card.  It  was  the  business  card  of  Keen 
&  Co.,  and,  glancing  up  at  Mr.  Keen,  he  read  it 
aloud,  carefully: 

KEEN  &  CO. 

TRACERS  OF  LOST  PERSONS 

Keen  &  Co.  are  prepared  to  locate  the 

whereabouts  of  anybody  on  earth. 

No  charges  will  be  made  unless 

the  person  searched  for 

is  found. 
Blanks  on  Application. 

WESTREL  KEEN,  Manager. 
76 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

Harren  raised  his  clear,  gray  eyes.  "  I  assume 
this  statement  to  be  correct,  Mr.  Keen  ?  " 

"  You  may  safely  assume  so,"  said  Mr.  Keen, 
smiling. 

"  Does  this  statement  include  all  that  you  are 
prepared  to  undertake?  " 

The  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  inspected  him 
coolly.  "  What  more  is  there,  Captain  Harren  ? 
I  undertake  to  find  lost  people.  I  even  undertake 
to  find  the  undiscovered  ideals  of  young  people 
who  have  failed  to  meet  them.  What  further  field 
would  you  suggest?"  Harren  glanced  at  the 
card  which  he  held  in  his  gloved  hand ;  then,  very 
slowly,  he  re-read,  "  the  whereabouts  of  anybody 
on  earth,"  accenting  the  last  two  words  deliber 
ately  as  he  encountered  Keen's  piercing  gaze 
again. 

"Well?"  asked  Mr.  Keen  laughingly,  "is  not 
that  sufficient?  Our  clients  could  scarcely  expect 
us  to  invade  heaven  in  our  search  for  the 
vanished." 

"  There  are  other  regions,"  said  Harren. 

"  Exactly.  Sit  down,  sir.  There  is  a  row  of 
bookcases  for  your  amusement.  Please  help  your 
self  while  I  clear  decks  for  action." 

Harren  stood  fingering  the  card,  his  gray  eyes 
lost  in  retrospection ;  then  he  sauntered  over  to 
77 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

the  bookcases,  scanning  the  titles.  The  Searcher 
for  Lost  Persons  studied  him  for  a  moment  or  two, 
turned,  and  began  to  pace  the  room.  After  a 
moment  or  two  he  touched  a  bell.  A  sweet-faced 
young  girl  entered ;  she  was  gowned  in  black  and 
wore  a  white  collar,  and  cuffs  turned  back  over  her 
hands. 

4  Take  this  memorandum,"  he  said.  The  girl 
picked  up  a  pencil  and  pad,  and  Mr.  Keen,  still 
pacing  the  room,  dictated  in  a  quiet  voice  as  he 
walked  to  and  fro : 

"  Mrs.  Regan's  Danny  is  doing  six  months  in 
Butte,  Montana.  Break  it  to  her  as  mercifully  as 
possible.  He  is  a  bad  one.  We  make  no  charge. 
The  truck  driver,  Becker,  can  find  his  wife  at  her 
mother's  house,  Leonia,  New  Jersey.  Tell  him  to 
be  less  pig-headed  or  she'll  go  for  good  some  day. 
Ten  dollars.  Mrs.  M.,  No.  36001,  can  find  her 
missing  butler  in  service  at  79  Vine  Street,  Hart 
ford,  Connecticut.  She  may  notify  the  police 
whenever  she  wishes.  His  portrait  is  No.  170529, 
Rogues'  Gallery.  Five  hundred  dollars.  Miss  K. 
(No.  3679)  may  send  her  letter,  care  of  Cisneros 
&  Co.,  Rio,  where  the  person  she  is  seeking  has 
gone  into  the  coffee  business.  If  she  decides  that 
she  really  does  love  him,  he'll  come  back  fast 
enough.  Two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  Mr.  W. 
78 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

(No.  3620)  must  go  to  the  morgue  for  further 
information.  His  repentance  is  too  late;  but  he 
can  see  that  there  is  a  decent  burial.  The  charge : 
one  thousand  dollars  to  the  Florence  Mission. 
You  may  add  that  we  possess  his  full  record." 

The  Tracer  paused  and  waited  for  the  stenogra 
pher  to  finish.  When  she  looked  up :  "  Who  else 
is  waiting?  "  he  asked. 

The  girl  read  over  the  initials  and  numbers. 

"  Tell  that  policeman  that  Kid  Conroy  sails  on 
the  Carania  to-morrow.  Fifty  dollars.  There  is 
nothing  definite  in  the  other  cases.  Report  prog 
ress  and  send  out  a  general  alarm  for  the  cashier 
inquired  for  by  No.  3608.  You  will  find  details 
in  vol.  xxxix  under  B." 

"Is  that  all,  Mr.  Keen?" 

"Yes.  I'm  going  to  be  very  busy  with" — 
turning  slowly  toward  Harren — "  with  Captain 
Harren,  of  the  Philippine  Scouts,  until  to-morrow 
— a  very  complicated  case,  Miss  Borrow,  involv 
ing  cipher  codes  and  photography ' 


79 


CHAPTER    VIII 

HARREN  started,  then  walked  slowly  to  the  cen 
ter  of  the  room  as  the  pretty  stenographer  passed 
out  with  a  curious  level  glance  at  him. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  photography  plays  a 
part  in  my  case?  "  he  asked. 

"Doesn't  it?" 

"  Yes.     But  how " 

"  Oh,  I  only  guessed  it,"  said  Keen  with  a  smile. 
"  I  made  another  guess  that  your  case  involved  a 
cipher  code.  Does  it?  " 

4  Y-es,"  said  the  young  man,  astonished,  "  but 
I  don't  see " 

"  It  also  involves  the  occult,"  observed  Keen 
calmly.  "  We  may  need  Miss  Borrow  to  help  us." 

Almost  staggered,  Harren  stared  at  the  Tracer 
out  of  his  astonished  gray  eyes  until  that  gentle 
man  laughed  outright  and  seated  himself,  motion 
ing  Harren  to  do  likewise. 

"  Don't  be  surprised,  Captain  Harren,"  he  said. 
"  I  suppose  you  have  no  conception  of  our  busi 
ness,  no  realization  of  its  scope — its  network  of 
information  bureaus  all  over  the  civilized  world,  its 
80 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

myriad  sources  of  information,  the  immensity  of 
its  delicate  machinery,  the  endless  data  and  the  in 
finitesimal  details  we  have  at  our  command.     You, 
of  course,  have  no  idea  of  the  number  of  people 
of  every  sort  and  condition  who  are  in  our  employ, 
of    the    ceaseless    yet    inoffensive    surveillance   we 
maintain.     For  example,  when  your  letter  came 
last  week  I  called  up  the  person  who  has  charge 
of  the  army  list.     There  you  were,  Kenneth  Har- 
ren,  Captain  Philippine  Scouts,  with  the  date  of 
your  graduation  from  West  Point.    Then  I  called 
up  a  certain  department  devoted  to  personal  de 
tail,  and  in  five  minutes  I  knew  your  entire  history. 
I  then  touched  another  electric  button,  and  in  a 
minute  I  had  before  me  the  date  of  your  arrival 
in   New  York,   your   present  address,   and "  —he 
looked  up  quizzically    at   Harren— "  and   several 
items  of  general  information,  such  as  your  pecu 
liar  use  of  your  camera,  and  the  list  of  books  on 
Psychical  Phenomena  and  Cryptograms  which  you 

have  been  buying " 

Harren  flushed  up.     "  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
I  have  been  spied  upon,  Mr.  Keen  ?  " 

"  No  more  than  anybody  else  who  comes  to  us  as 
a  client.     There  was  nothing  offensive  in  the  sur 
veillance."     He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  made 
a  deprecating  gesture.     "  Ours  is  a  business,  my 
81 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

dear  sir,  like  any  other.  We,  of  course,  are 
obliged  to  know  about  people  who  call  on  us. 
Last  week  you  wrote  me,  and  I  immediately  set 
every  wheel  in  motion ;  in  other  words,  I  had  you 
under  observation  from  the  day  I  received  your 
letter  to  this  very  moment." 

"You  learned  much  concerning  me?"  asked 
Harren  quietly. 

"  Exactly,  my  dear  sir." 

"  But,"  continued  Harren  with  a  touch  of  mal 
ice,  "  you  didn't  learn  that  my  leave  is  up  to 
morrow,  did  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  learned  that,  too." 

>4  Then  why  did  you  give  me  an  appointment 
for  the  day  after  to-morrow?"  demanded  the 
young  man  bluntly. 

The  Tracer  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eye. 
"  Your  leave  is  to  be  extended,"  he  said. 

"What?" 

"  Exactly.     It  has  been  extended  one  week." 

"  How  do  you  know  that?  " 

"  You  applied  for  extension,  did  you  not?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Harren,  turning  red,  "  but  I  don't 
see  how  you  knew  that  I " 

"By  cable?" 

"  Y-yes." 

"  There's  a  cablegram  in  your  rooms  at  this 
82 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

very  moment,"  said  the  Tracer  carelessly.  "  You 
have  the  extension  you  desired.  And  now,  Cap 
tain  Harren,"  with  a  singularly  pleasant  smile, 
"  what  can  I  do  to  help  you  to  a  pursuit  of  that 
true  happiness  which  is  guaranteed  for  all  good 
citizens  under  our  Constitution?" 

Captain  Harren  crossed  his  long  legs,  dropping 
one  knee  over  the  other,  and  deliberately  surveyed 
his  interrogator. 

"  I  really  have  no  right  to  come  to  you,"  he 
said  slowly.  "  Your  prospectus  distinctly  states 
that  Keen  &  Co.  undertake  to  find  live  people,  and 
I  don't  know  whether  the  person  I  am  seeking  is 
alive  or — or " 

His  steady  voice  faltered;  the  Tracer  watched 
him  curiously. 

"  Of  course,  that  is  important,"  he  said.  "  If 
she  is  dead — — " 

"  She! " 

"  Didn't  you  say  '  she,'  Captain?  " 

"  No,  I  did  not." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  then,  for  anticipating 
you,"  said  the  Tracer  carelessly. 

"  Anticipating  ?  How  do  you  know  it  is  not  a 
man  I  am  in  search  of?  "  demanded  Harren. 

"  Captain  Harren,  you  are  unmarried  and  have 
no  son ;  you  have  no  father,  no  brother,  no  sister. 
83 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

Therefore  I  infer — several  things — for  example, 
that  you  are  in  love." 

"I?     In  love?" 

"  Desperately,  Captain." 

"  Your  inferences  seem  to  satisfy  you,  at  least," 
said  Harren  almost  sullenly,  "  but  they  don't  sat 
isfy  me — clever  as  they  appear  to  be." 

"  Exactly.    Then  you  are  not  in  love?  " 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  or  not." 

"  I  do,"  said  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons. 

"  Then  you  know  more  than  I,"  retorted 
Harren  sharply. 

"  But  that  is  my  business — to  know  more  than 
you  do,"  returned  Mr.  Keen  patiently.  "  Else 
why  are  you  here  to  consult  me  ?  "  And  as  Harren 
made  no  reply :  "  I  have  seen  thousands  and  thou 
sands  of  people  in  love.  I  have  reduced  the  super 
ficial  muscular  phenomena  and  facial  sympto 
matic  aspect  of  such  people  to  an  exact  science 
founded  upon  a  schedule  approximating  the  Ber- 
tillon  system  of  records.  And,"  he  added,  smiling, 
"  out  of  the  twenty-seven  known  vocal  variations 
your  voice  betrays  twenty-five  unmistakable  symp 
toms;  and  out  of  the  sixteen  reflex  muscular 
symptoms  your  face  has  furnished  six,  your  hands 
three,  your  limbs  and  feet  six.  Then  there  are 

other  superficial  symptoms ' 

64 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Good  heavens !  "  broke  in  Harren ;  "  how  can 
you  prove  a  man  to  be  in  love  when  he  himself 
doesn't  know  whether  he  is  or  not?  If  a  man  isn't 
in  love  no  Bertillon  system  can  make  him  so ;  and 
if  a  man  doesn't  know  whether  or  not  he  is  in  love, 
who  can  tell  him  the  truth?  " 

"  I  can,"  said  the  Tracer  calmly. 
"What!      When    I    tell    you    I    myself    don't 
know?" 

"  That,"  said  the  Tracer,  smiling,  "  is  the  final 
and  convincing  symptom.  You  don't  know.  / 
know  because  you  don't  know.  That  is  the  easiest 
way  to  be  sure  that  you  are  in  love,  Captain  Har 
ren,  because  you  always  are  when  you  are  not  sure. 
You'd  know  if  you  were  not  in  love.  Now,  my 
dear  sir,  you  may  lay  your  case  confidently  before 
me." 

Harren,  unconvinced,  sat  frowning  and  biting 
his  lip  and  twisting  his  short,  crisp  mustache 
which  the  tropical  sun  had  turned  straw  color  and 
curly. 

"  I  feel  like  a  fool  to  tell  you,"  he  said.  "  I'm 
not  an  imaginative  man,  Mr.  Keen ;  I'm  not  fan 
ciful,  not  sentimental.  I'm  perfectly  healthy, 
perfectly  normal — a  very  busy  man  in  my  pro 
fession,  with  no  time  and  no  inclination  to  fall 
in  love." 

85 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST  PERSONS 

"  Just  the  sort  of  man  who  does  it,"  commented 
Keen.  "  Continue." 

Harren  fidgeted  about  in  his  chair,  looked  out 
of  the  window,  squinted  at  the  ceiling,  then 
straightened  up,  folding  his  arms  with  sudden 
determination. 

"  I'd  rather  be  boloed  than  tell  you,"  he  said. 
"Perhaps,  after  all,  I  am  a  lunatic;  perhaps 
I've  had  a  touch  of  the  Luzon  sun  and  don't 
know  it." 

"  I'll  be  the  judge,"  said  the  Tracer,  smiling. 

"  Very  well,  sir.  Then  I'll  begin  by  telling  you 
that  I've  seen  a  ghost." 

'There  are  such  things,"  observed  Keen 
quietly. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  one  of  those  fabled  sheeted 
creatures  that  float  about  at  night;  I  mean  a 
phantom — a  real  phantom  —  in  the  sunlight  — 
standing  before  my  very  eyes  in  broad  day !  .  .  . 
Now  do  you  feel  inclined  to  go  on  with  my  case, 
Mr.  Keen?" 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  Tracer  gravely. 
"  Please  continue,  Captain  Harren." 

"  All  right,  then.     Here's  the  beginning  of  it  : 

Three   years    ago,   here   in   New   York,   drifting 

along  Fifth  Avenue  with  the  crowd,  I  looked  up 

to  encounter  the  most  wonderful  pair  of  eyes  that 

86 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

I  ever  beheld — that  any  living  man  ever  beheld! 
The  most — wonderfully — beautiful " 

He  sat  so  long  immersed  in  retrospection  that 
the  Tracer  said :  "  I  am  listening,  Captain,"  and 
the  Captain  woke  up  with  a  start. 

"  What  was  I  saying  ?  How  far  had  I  pro 
ceeded?  " 

"  Only  to  the  eyes." 

"  Oh,  I  see !  The  eyes  were  dark,  sir,  dark  and 
lovely  beyond  any  power  of  description.  The  hair 
was  also  dark — very  soft  and  thick  and — er — 
wavy  and  dark.  The  face  was  extremely  youthful, 
and  ornamental  to  the  uttermost  verges  of  a 
beauty  so  exquisite  that,  were  I  to  attempt  to 
formulate  for  you  its  individual  attractions,  I 
should,  I  fear,  transgress  the  strictly  rigid  bounds 
of  that  reticence  which  becomes  a  gentleman  in 
complete  possession  of  his  senses." 

"  Exactly,"  mused  the  Tracer. 

"  Also,"  continued  Captain  Harren,  with  grow 
ing  animation,  "  to  attempt  to  describe  her  figure 
would  be  utterly  useless,  because  I  am  a  practical 
man  and  not  a  poet,  nor  do  I  read  poetry  or  in 
dulge  in  futile  novels  or  romances  of  any  descrip 
tion.  Therefore  I  can  only  add  that  it  was  a 
figure,  a  poise,  absolutely  faultless,  youthful, 
beautiful,  erect,  wholesome,  gracious,  graceful, 
7  87 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

charmingly  buoyant  and — well,  I  cannot  describe 
her  figure,  and  I  shall  not  try." 

"  Exactly ;  don't  try." 

"  No,"  said  Harren  mournfully,  "  it  is  use 
less  " ;  and  he  relapsed  into  enchanted  retrospec 
tion. 

"  Who  was  she?  "  asked  Mr.  Keen  softly. 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  You  never  again  saw  her?  " 

"  Mr.  Keen,  I — I  am  not  ill-bred,  but  I  sim 
ply  could  not  help  following  her.  She  was  so 
b-b-beautiful  that  it  hurt;  and  I  only  wanted  to 
look  at  her;  I  didn't  mind  being  hurt.  So  I 
walked  on  and  on,  and  sometimes  I'd  pass  her  and 
sometimes  I'd  let  her  pass  me,  and  when  she  wasn't 
looking  I'd  look — not  offensively,  but  just  because 
I  couldn't  help  it.  And  all  the  time  my  senses  were 
humming  like  a  top  and  my  heart  kept  jumping 
to  get  into  my  throat,  and  I  hadn't  a  notion  where 
I  was  going  or  what  time  it  was  or  what  day  of 
the  week.  She  didn't  see  me ;  she  didn't  dream  that 
I  was  looking  at  her ;  she  didn't  know  me  from  any 
of  the  thousand  silk-hatted,  frock-coated  men  who 
passed  and  repassed  her  on  Fifth  Avenue.  And 
when  she  went  into  St.  Berold's  Church,  I  went, 
too,  and  I  stood  where  I  could  see  her  and  where 
she  couldn't  see  me.  It  was  like  a  touch  of  the 
88 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

Luzon  sun,  Mr.  Keen.  And  then  she  came  out  and 
got  into  a  Fifth  Avenue  stage,  and  I  got  in,  too. 
And  whenever  she  looked  away  I  looked  at  her — 
without  the  slightest  offense,  Mr.  Keen,  until, 
once,  she  caught  my  eye " 

He  passed  an  unsteady  hand  over  his  forehead. 

"  For  a  moment  we  looked  full  at  one  another," 
he  continued.  "  I  got  red,  sir ;  I  felt  it,  and  I 
couldn't  look  away.  And  when  I  turned  color  like 
a  blooming  beet,  she  began  to  turn  pink  like  a  rose 
bud,  and  she  looked  full  into  my  eyes  with  such  a 
wonderful  purity,  such  exquisite  innocence,  that  I 
— I  never  felt  so  near — er — heaven  in  my  life ! 
No,  sir,  not  even  when  they  ambushed  us  at  Manoa 
Wells — but  that's  another  thing — only  it  is  part 
of  this  business." 

He  tightened  his  clasped  hands  over  his  knee 
until  the  knuckles  whitened. 

"  That's  my  story,  Mr.  Keen,"  he  said  crisply. 

"All  of  it?" 

Harren  looked  at  the  floor,  then  at  Keen: 
"  No,  not  all.  You'll  think  me  a  lunatic  if  I  tell 
you  all." 

"  Oh,  you  saw  her  again  ?  " 

"  N-never !    That  is " 

"Never?" 

"  Not  in—in  the  flesh." 
89 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"Oh,  in  dreams?" 

Harren  stirred  uneasily.  "  I  don't  know  what 
you  call  them.  I  have  seen  her  since — in  the  sun 
light,  in  the  open,  in  my  quarters  in  Manila, 
standing  there  perfectly  distinct,  looking  at  me 
with  such  strange,  beautiful  eyes — 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  Tracer,  nodding. 

"  What  else  is  there  to  say  ?  "  muttered  Harren. 

"  You  saw  her — or  a  phantom  which  resembled 
her.  Did  she  speak?" 

"  No." 

"  Did  you  speak  to  her  ?  " 

"  N-no.     Once  I  held  out  my — my  arms." 

"What  happened?" 

"  She  wasn't  there,"  said  Harren  simply. 

"She  vanished?" 

"  No — I  don't  know.  I — I  didn't  see  her  any 
more." 

"Didn't  she  fade?" 

"  No.  I  can't  explain.  She — there  was  only 
myself  in  the  room." 

"  How  many  times  has  she  appeared  to  you  ?  " 

"  A  great  many  times." 

"  In  your  room?  " 

'*  Yes.     And  in  the  road  under  a  vertical  sun ; 
in  the  forest,  in  the  paddy  fields.     I  have  seen  her 
passing  through  the  hallway  of  a  friend's  house — 
90 


Standing  there   .   .   .   looking  at  me  with  such  strange 
beautiful  eyes 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST  PERSONS 

turning  on  the  stair  to  look  back  at  me!  I  saw 
her  standing  just  back  of  the  firing-line  at  Manoa 
Wells  when  we  were  preparing  to  rush  the  forts, 
and  it  scared  me  so  that  I  jumped  forward  to  draw 
her  back.  But — she  wasn't  there,  Mr.  Keen.  .  .  . 

"  On  the  transport  she  stood  facing  me  on  deck 
one  moonlit  evening  for  five  minutes.  I  saw  her 
in  'Frisco;  she  sat  in  the  Pullman  twice  between 
Denver  and  this  city.  Twice  in  my  room  at  the 
Vice-Regent  she  has  sat  opposite  me  at  midday,  so 
clear,  so  beautiful,  so  real  that — that  I  could 

scarcely  believe  she  was  only  a — a "  He 

hesitated. 

"  The  apparition  of  her  own  subconscious  self," 
said  the  Tracer  quietly.  "  Science  has  been  forced 
to  admit  such  things,  and,  as  you  know,  we  are 
on  the  verge  of  understanding  the  alphabet  of 
some  of  the  unknown  forces  which  we  must  some 
day  reckon  with." 

Harren,  tense,  a  trifle  pale,  gazed  at  him 
earnestly. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  such  things  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  avoid  believing?  "  said  the  Tracer. 
"  Every  day,  in  my  profession,  we  have  proof  of 
the  existence  of  forces  for  which  we  have  as  yet  no 
explanation — or,  at  best,  a  very  crude  one.  I  have 
had  case  after  case  of  premonition ;  case  after  case 
91 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

of  dual  and  even  multiple  personality ;  case  after 
case  where  apparitions  played  a  vital  part  in  the 
plot  which  was  brought  to  me  to  investigate.  I'll 
tell  you  this,  Captain :  I,  personally,  never  saw  an 
apparition,  never  was  obsessed  by  premonitions, 
never  received  any  communications  from  the  outer 
void.  But  I  have  had  to  do  with  those  who  un 
doubtedly  did.  Therefore  I  listen  with  all  serious 
ness  and  respect  to  what  you  tell  me." 

"  Suppose,"  said  Harren,  growing  suddenly 
red,  "  that  I  should  tell  you  I  have  succeeded  in 
photographing  this  phantom." 

The  Tracer  sat  silent.  He  was  astounded,  but 
he  did  not  betray  it. 

"  You  have  that  photograph,  Captain  Har 
ren?" 

"  Yes." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"  In  my  rooms." 

"  You  wish  me  to  see  it  ?  " 

Harren  hesitated.  "  I — there  is — seems  to  be — 
something  almost  sacred  to  me  in  that  photo 
graph.  .  .  .  You  understand  me,  do  you  not? 
Yet,  if  it  will  help  you  in  finding  her— 

"Oh,"  said  the  Tracer  in  guileless  astonish 
ment,  "you  desire  to  find  this  young  lady. 
Why?" 

92 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST  PERSONS 

Harren  stared.  "Why?  Why  do  I  want  to 
find  her  ?  Man,  I — I  can't  live  without  her !  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  not  certain  whether  you 
really  could  be  in  love." 

The  hot  color  in  the  Captain's  bronzed  cheeks 
mounted  to  his  hair. 

"  Exactly,"  purred  the  Tracer,  looking  out  of 
the  window.  "  Suppose  we  walk  around  to  your 
rooms  after  luncheon.  Shall  we?  " 

Harren  picked  up  his  hat  and  gloves,  hesitat 
ing,  lingering  on  the  threshold.  "  You  don't 
think  she  is — a — dead?  "  he  asked  unsteadily. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Keen,  «  I  don't." 

"  Because,"  said  Harren  wistfully,  "  her  appa 
rition  is  so  superbly  healthy  and — and  glowing 
with  youth  and  life " 

"  That  is  probably  what  sent  it  half  the  world 
over  to  confront  you,"  said  the  Tracer  gravely; 
"  youth  and  life  aglow  with  spiritual  health.  I 
think,  Captain,  that  she  has  been  seeing  you,  too, 
during  these  three  years,  but  probably  only  in 
her  dreams — memories  of  your  encounters  with 
her  subconscious  self  floating  over  continents  and 
oceans  in  a  quest  of  which  her  waking  intelligence 
is  innocently  unaware." 

The  Captain  colored  like  a  schoolboy,  lingering 
at  the  door,  hat  in  hand.  Then  he  straightened  up 
93 


THE  TRACER  OF  LOST  PERSONS 

to  the  full  height  of  his  slim  but  powerful 
figure. 

"  At  three?  "  he  inquired  bluntly. 

"  At  three  o'clock  in  your  room,  Hotel  Vice- 
Regent.  Good  morning,  Captain." 

"  Good  morning,"  said  Harren  dreamily,  and 
walked  away,  head  bent,  gray  eyes  lost  in  retro 
spection,  and  on  his  lean,  bronzed,  attractive  face 
an  afterglow  of  color  wholly  becoming. 


CHAPTER    IX 

WHEN  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  entered  Cap 
tain  Barren's  room  at  the  Hotel  Vice-Regent  that 
afternoon  he  found  the  young  man  standing  at  a 
center  table,  pencil  in  hand,  studying  a  sheet  of 
paper  which  was  covered  with  letters  and  figures. 

The  two  men  eyed  one  another  in  silence  for  a 
moment,  then  Harren  pointed  grimly  to  the  con 
fusion  of  letters  and  figures  covering  dozens  of 
scattered  sheets  lying  on  the  table. 

"  That's  part  of  my  madness,"  he  said  with  a 
short  laugh.  "  Can  you  make  anything  of  such 
lunatic  work  ?  " 

The  Tracer  picked  up  a  sheet  of  paper  covered 
with  letters  of  the  alphabet  and  Roman  and  Arabic 
numerals.  He  dropped  it  presently  and  picked  up 
another  comparatively  blank  sheet,  on  which  were 
the  following  figures: 


I23456789O 


He  studied  it  for  a  while,  then  glanced  inter 
rogatively  at  Harren. 

95 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  It's  nothing,"  said  Harren.  "  I've  been  grop 
ing  for  three  years — but  it's  no  use.  That's 
lunatics'  work."  He  wheeled  squarely  on  his 
heels,  looking  straight  at  the  Tracer.  "  Do  you 
think  I've  had  a  touch  of  the  sun  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Keen,  drawing  a  chair  to  the 
table.  "  Saner  men  than  you  or  I  have  spent  a 
lifetime  over  this  so-called  Seal  of  Solomon."  He 
laid  his  finger  on  the  two  symbols — 

xx 


Then,  looking  across  the  table  at  Harren :  "  What," 
he  asked,  "  has  the  Seal  of  Solomon  to  do  with 
your  case?  " 

"  She—      "  muttered  Harren,  and  fell  silent. 

The  Tracer  waited ;  Harren  said  nothing. 

"  Where  is  the  photograph?  " 

Harren  unlocked  a  drawer  in  the  table,  hesi 
tated,  looked  strangely  at  the  Tracer. 

"  Mr.  Keen,"  he  said,  "  there  is  nothing  on 
earth  I  hold  more  sacred  than  this.  There  is  only 
one  thing  in  the  world  that  could  justify  me  in 
showing  it  to  a  living  soul — my — my  desire  to 
find— her " 

"  No,"  said  Keen  coolly,  "  that  is  not  enough 
to  justify  you — the  mere  desire  to  find  the  living 
96 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST  PERSONS 

original  of  this  apparition.     Nothing  could  jus 
tify  your  showing  it  unless  you  love  her." 

Harren  held  the  picture  tightly,  staring  full  at 
the  Tracer.  A  dull  flush  mounted  to  his  forehead, 
and  very  slowly  he  laid  the  picture  before  the 
Tracer  of  Lost  Persons. 

Minute  after  minute  sped  while  the  Tracer  bent 
above  the  photograph,  his  finely  modeled  features 
absolutely  devoid  of  expression.  Harren  had 
drawn  his  chair  beside  him,  and  now  sat  leaning 
forward,  bronzed  cheek  resting  in  his  hand,  star 
ing  fixedly  at  the  picture. 

"When  was  this — this  photograph  taken?" 
asked  the  Tracer  quietly. 

"  The  day  after  I  arrived  in  New  York.  I  was 
here,  alone,  smoking  my  pipe  and  glancing  over 
the  evening  paper  just  before  dressing  for  dinner. 
It  was  growing  rather  dark  in  the  room;  I  had 
not  turned  on  the  electric  light.  My  camera  lay 
on  the  table — there  it  is! — that  kodak.  I  had 
taken  a  few  snapshots  on  shipboard;  there  was 
one  film  left." 

He  leaned  more  heavily  on  his  elbow,  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  picture. 

"It  was  almost  dark,"  he  repeated.     "I  laid 
aside  the  evening  paper  and  stood  up,  thinking 
about  dressing  for  dinner,  when  my  eyes  happened 
97 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST  PERSONS 

to  fall  on  the  camera.  It  occurred  to  me  that  I 
might  as  well  unload  it,  let  the  unused  film  go,  and 
send  the  roll  to  be  developed  and  printed;  and  I 

picked  up  the  camera " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Tracer  softly. 
"  I  picked  it  up  and  was  starting  toward  the 
window  where  there  remained  enough  daylight  to 

see  by " 

The  Tracer  nodded  gently. 
"  Then   I   saw  her  ! "   said  Harren   under  his 
breath. 

"Where?" 

6  There — standing  by  that  window.     You  can 
see  the  window  and  curtain  in  the  photograph." 
The  Tracer  gazed  intently  at  the  picture. 
"  She  looked  at  me,"  said  Harren,  steadying  his 
voice.     "  She  was  as  real  as  you  are,  and  she  stood 
there,  smiling  faintly,  her  dark,  lovely  eyes  meet 
ing  mine." 

"Did  you  speak?" 
"  No." 

"  How  long  did  she  remain  there  ?  " 
"  I   don't   know  —  time   seemed   to   stop  —  the 
world — everything    grew    still.  .   .  .  Then,    little 
by    little,    something    began    to    stir    under    my 
stunned    senses — that    germ    of    misgiving,    that 
dreadful  doubt  of  my  own  sanity.  ...  I  scarcely 
98 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

knew  what  I  was  doing  when  I  took  the  photo 
graph;  besides,  it  had  grown  quite  dark,  and  I 
could  scarcely  see  her."  He  drew  himself  erect 
with  a  nervous  movement.  "  How  on  earth  could 
I  have  obtained  that  photograph  of  her  in  the 
darkness  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"N-rays,"  said  the  Tracer  coolly.  "It  has 
been  done  in  France." 

"  Yes,  from  living  people,  but " 

"  What  the  N-ray  is  in  living  organisms,  we 
must  call,  for  lack  of  a  better  term,  the  subaura 
in  the  phantom." 

They  bent  over  the  photograph  together. 
Presently  the  Tracer  said :  "  She  is  very,  very 
beautiful?" 

Barren's  dry  lips  unclosed,  but  he  uttered  no 
sound. 

"  She  is  beautiful,  is  she  not?  "  repeated  the 
Tracer,  turning  to  look  at  the  young  man. 

"  Can  you  not  see  she  is  ?  "  he  asked  impatiently. 

"  No,"  said  the  Tracer. 

Harren  stared  at  him. 

"  Captain  Harren,"  continued  the  Tracer,  "  I 
can  see  nothing  upon  this  bit  of  paper  that  resem 
bles  in  the  remotest  degree  a  human  face  or 
figure." 

Harren  turned  white. 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"Not  that  I  doubt  that  you  can  sec  it," 
pursued  the  Tracer  calmly.  "I  simply  repeat 
that  I  see  absolutely  nothing  on  this  paper  ex 
cept  a  part  of  a  curtain,  a  window  pane,  and — 
and " 

"What!  for  God's  sake!"  cried  Harren 
hoarsely. 

"  I  don't  know  yet.     Wait ;  let  me  study  it." 

"  Can  you  not  see  her  face,  her  eyes  ?  Don't 
you  see  that  exquisite  slim  figure  standing  there  by 
the  curtain  ?  "  demanded  Harren,  laying  his  shak 
ing  finger  on  the  photograph.  "  Why,  man,  it  is 
as  clear,  as  clean  cut,  as  distinct  as  though  the 
picture  had  been  taken  in  sunlight !  Do  you  mean 
to  say  that  there  is  nothing  there — that  I  am 
crazy  ?  " 

"No.    Wait." 

"  Wait !  How  can  I  wait  when  you  sit  staring 
at  her  picture  and  telling  me  that  you  can't  see  it, 
but  that  it  is  doubtless  there?  Are  you  deceiving 
me,  Mr.  Keen  ?  Are  you  trying  to  humor  me,  try 
ing  to  be  kind  to  me,  knowing  all  the  while  that 

I'm  crazy " 

"Wait,  man!  You  are  no  more  crazy  than  I 
am.  I  tell  you  that  I  can  see  something  on  the 

window  pane " 

He  suddenly  sprang  up  and  walked  to  the  win- 
100 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOV 7 

dow,  leaning  close  and  esamiViing  il>o  gla-1*.     Ha  • 
ren  followed  and  laid  his  hand  lightly  over  the 
pane. 

"  Do  you  see  any  marks  on  the  glass  ?  "  de 
manded  Keen. 

Harren  shook  his  head. 

"  Have  you  a  magnifying  glass  ?  "  asked  the 
Tracer. 

Harren  pointed  back  to  the  table,  and  they  re 
turned  to  the  photograph,  the  Tracer  bending 
over  it  and  examining  it  through  the  glass. 

"All  I  see,"  he  said,  still  studying  the  photo 
graph,  "  is  a  corner  of  a  curtain  and  a  win 
dow  on  which  certain  figures  seem  to  have  been 
cut.  .  .  .  Look,  Captain  Harren,  can  you  see 
them?" 

"  I  see  some  marks — some  squares." 

"  You  can't  see  anything  written  on  that  pane 
— as  though  cut  by  a  diamond?  " 

"  Nothing  distinct." 

"  But  you  see  her  ?  " 

"  Perfectly." 

"In  minute  detail?" 

"  Yes." 

The  Tracer  thought  a  moment :  "  Does  she  wear 
a  ring?  " 

"  Yes ;  can't  you  see  ?  " 
101 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST  PERSONS 

"Drawit  fwvme.". 

They  seated  themselves  side  by  side,  and  Harren 
drew  a  rough  sketch  of  the  ring  which  he  insisted 
was  so  plainly  visible  on  her  hand: 


"  Oh,"  observed  the  Tracer,  "  she  wears  the 
Seal  of  Solomon  on  her  ring." 

Harren  looked  up  at  him.  "  That  symbol  has 
haunted  me  persistently  for  three  years,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  found  it  everywhere — on  articles  that  I 
buy,  on  house  furniture,  on  the  belts  of  dead 
ladrones,  on  the  hilts  of  creeses,  on  the  funnels  of 
steamers,  on  the  headstalls  of  horses.  If  they  put 
a  laundry  mark  on  my  linen  it's  certain  to  be  this ! 


If  I  buy  a  box  of  matches  the  sign  is  on  it.  Why, 
I've  even  seen  it  on  the  brilliant  wings  of  trop 
ical  insects.  It's  got  on  my  nerves.  I  dream 
about  it." 

"  And  you  buy  books  about  it  and  try  to  work 
out  its  mystical  meaning?  "  suggested  the  Tracer, 
smiling. 

But  Barren's  gray  eyes  were  serious.  He  said: 
"  She  never  comes  to  me  without  that  symbol  some 
where  about  her.  ...  I  told  you  she  never  spoke 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

to  me.  That  is  true ;  yet  once,  in  a  vivid  dream  of 
her,  she  did  speak.  I — I  was  almost  ashamed  to 
tell  you  of  that." 

"  Tell  me." 

"A — a  dream?  Do  you  wish  to  know  what  I 
dreamed?  " 

"  Yes — if  it  was  a  dream." 

"  It  was.  I  was  asleep  on  the  deck  of  the  Min- 
dmao,  dead  tired  after  a  fruitless  hike.  I  dreamed 
she  came  toward  me  through  a  young  woodland 
all  lighted  by  the  sun,  and  in  her  hands  she  held 
masses  of  that  wild  flower  we  call  Solomon's  Seal. 
And  she  said — in  the  voice  I  know  must  be  like 
hers :  '  If  you  could  only  read !  If  you  would  only 
understand  the  message  I  send  you !  It  is  every 
where  on  earth  for  you  to  read,  if  you  only 
would ! ' 

"  I  said :  '  Is  the  message  in  the  seal  ?  Is  that 
the  key  to  it?' 

"  She  nodded,  laughing,  burying  her  face  in  the 
flowers,  and  said: 

"  '  Perhaps  I  can  write  it  more  plainly  for  you 
some  day ;  I  will  try  very,  very  hard.' 

"  And  after  that  she  went  away — not  swiftly— 
for  I  saw  her  at  moments  far  away  in  the  woods ; 
but  I  must  have  confused  her  with  the  glimmering 
shafts  of  sunlight,  and  in  a  little  while  the  wood- 
8  103 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST  PERSONS 

land  grew  dark  and  I  woke  with  the  racket  of  a 
Colt's  automatic  in  my  ears." 

He  passed  his  sun-bronzed  hand  over  his  face, 
hesitated,  then  leaned  over  the  photograph  once 
more,  which  the  Tracer  was  studying  intently 
through  the  magnifying  glass. 

"  There  is  something  on  that  window  in  the  pho 
tograph  which  I'm  going  to  copy,"  he  said. 
"  Please  shove  a  pad  and  pencil  toward  me." 

Still  examining  the  photograph  through  the 
glass  which  he  held  in  his  right  hand,  Mr.  Keen 
picked  up  the  pencil  and,  feeling  for  the  pad, 
began  very  slowly  to  form  the  following  series 
of  symbols : 


"What  on  earth  are  you  doing?"  muttered 
Captain  Harren,  twisting  his  short  mustache  in 
perplexity. 

104 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  I  am  copying  what  I  see  through  this  magni 
fying  glass  written  on  the  window  pane  in  the 
photograph,"  said  the  Tracer  calmly.  "Can't 
you  see  those  marks  ?  " 

«  I — I  do  now ;  I  never  noticed  them  before  par 
ticularly — only  that  there  were  scratches  there." 
When    at   length   the   Tracer   had   finished  his 
work  he  sat,  chin  on  hand,  examining  it  in  silence. 
Presently  he  turned  toward  Harren,  smiling. 

"Well?"  inquired  the  younger  man  impa 
tiently  ;  "  do  those  scratches  representing  Solo 
mon's  Seal  mean  anything?  " 

"  It's  the  strangest  cipher  I  ever  encountered," 
said  Mr.  Keen—"  the  strangest  I  ever  heard  of. 
I  have  seen  hundreds  of  ciphers — hundreds — se 
cret  codes  of  the  State  Department,  secret  mili 
tary  codes,  elaborate  Oriental  ciphers,  symbols 
used  in  commercial  transactions,  symbols  used  by 
criminals  and  every  species  of  malefactor.  And 
every  one  of  them  can  be  solved  with  time  and 
patience  and  a  little  knowledge  of  the  subject. 
But  this" — he  sat  looking  at  it  with  eyes  half 
closed — "  this  is  too  simple." 
"Simple!" 

"  Very.     It's  so  simple  that  it's  baffling." 
"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  are  going  to  be  able 
to  find  a  meaning  in  squares  and  crosses  ?  " 
105 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  I — I  don't  believe  it  is  going  to  be  so  very 
difficult  to  translate  them." 

"  Great  guns !  "  said  the  Captain.  "  Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  you  can  ultimately  translate  that 
cipher?" 

The  Tracer  smiled.  "  Let's  examine  it  for  repe 
titions  first.  Here  we  have  this  symbol 


repeated  five  times.  It's  likely  to  be  the  letter  E. 

I  think "  His  voice  ceased;  for  a  quarter  of 

an  hour  he  pored  over  the  symbols,  pencil  in  hand, 
checking  off  some,  substituting  a  letter  here  and 
there. 

"  No,"  he  said ;  "  the  usual  doesn't  work  in  this 
case.  It's  an  absurdly  simple  cipher.  I  have  a 
notion  that  numbers  play  a  part  in  it — you  see 
where  these  crossed  squares  are  bracketed — those 
must  be  numbers  requiring  two  figures 

He  fell  silent  again,  and  for  another  quarter  of 
an  hour  he  remained  motionless,  immersed  in  the 
problem  before  him,  Harren  frowning  at  the 
paper  over  his  shoulder. 


106 


CHAPTER    X 

"  COME  ! "  said  the  Tracer  suddenly ;  "  this 
won't  do.  There  are  too  few  symbols  to  give  us 
a  key ;  too  few  repetitions  to  furnish  us  with  any 
key  basis.  Come,  Captain,  let  us  use  our  intel 
lects;  let  us  talk  it  over  with  that  paper  lying 
there  between  us.  It's  a  simple  cipher — a  child 
ishly  simple  one  if  we  use  our  wits.  Now,  sir, 
what  I  see  repeated  before  us  on  this  sheet  of 
paper  is  merely  one  of  the  forms  of  a  symbol 
known  as  Solomon's  Seal.  The  symbol  is,  as  we 
see,  repeated  a  great  many  times.  Every  seal 


has  been  dotted  or  crossed  on  some  one  of  the  lines 
composing  it ;  some  seals  are  coupled  with  brackets 
and  armatures." 

"  What  of  it?  "  inquired  Harren  vacantly. 

"  Well,  sir,  in  the  first  place,  that  symbol 


is  supposed  to  represent  the  spiritual  and  material, 

as  you  know.    What  else  do  you  know  about  it?  " 

107 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Nothing.  I  bought  a  book  about  it,  but  made 
nothing  of  it." 

"  Isn't  it  supposed,"  asked  Mr.  Keen,  "  to  con 
tain  within  itself  the  nine  numerals,  1,  2,  3,  4,  5, 
6,  7,  8,  9,  and  even  the  zero  symbol?  " 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  Exactly.     Here's  the  seal 


Now  I'll  mark  the  one,  two,  and  three  by  crossing 
the  lines,  like  this: 


one, 


^     {X]  two,      [g]  three, 

Now,  eliminating  all  lines  not  crossed  there  remains 
the  one,     ^  the  two,    ^        the  three, 

And  here  is  the  entire  series : 

IZZ47A7X7 

and  the  zero — I 


A  sudden  excitement  stirred  Harren;  he  leaned 
over  the  paper,  gazing  earnestly  at  the  cipher; 
the  Tracer  rose  and  glanced  around  the  room  as 
though  in  search  of  something. 

"  Is  there  a  telephone  here?  "  he  asked. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  give  this  up  just 
108 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

yet,"  exclaimed  Harren.  "These  things  mean 
numbers;  don't  you  see?  Look  at  that!"  point 
ing  to  a  linked  pair  of  seals, 


"  That  means  the  number  nineteen  !    You  can  form 
it  by  using  only  the  crossed  lines  of  the  seal 


Don't  you  see,  Mr.  Keen?  " 

"Yes,  Captain  Harren,  the  cipher  is,  as  you 
say,  very  plain  ;  quite  as  easy  to  read  as  so  much 
handwriting.  That  is  why  I  wish  to  use  your  tele 
phone  —  at  once,  if  you  please." 

"  It's  in  my  bedroom  ;  you  don't  mind  if  I  go  on 
working  out  this  cipher  while  you're  telephoning?  " 
"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  the  Tracer  blandly. 
He  walked  into  the  Captain's  bedroom,  closing  the 
door  behind  him  ;  then  he  stepped  over  to  the  tele 
phone,  unhooked  the  receiver,  and  called  up  his 
own  headquarters. 

"  Hello.     This  is  Mr.  Keen.     I  want  to  speak 
to  Miss  Borrow." 

In  a  few  moments  Miss  Borrow  answered  :  "  I 
am  here,  Mr.  Keen." 

"  Good.     Look  up  the  name  Inwood.     Try  New 
109 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST  PERSONS 

York  first — Edith  Inwood  is  the  name.  Look 
sharp,  please ;  I  am  holding  the  wire." 

He  held  it  for  ten  full  minutes ;  then  Miss  Bor- 
row's  low  voice  called  him  over  the  wire. 

"  Go  ahead,"  said  the  Tracer  quietly. 

"  There  is  only  one  Edith  Inwood  in  New  York, 
Mr.  Keen — Miss  Edith  Inwood,  graduate  of  Bar 
nard,  1902 — left  an  orphan  1903  and  obliged  to 
support  herself — became  an  assistant  to  Professor 
Boggs  of  the  Museum  of  Inscriptions.  Is  con 
sidered  an  authority  upon  Arabian  cryptograms. 
Has  written  a  monograph  on  the  Herati  symbol — 
a  short  treatise  on  the  Swastika.  She  is  twenty- 
four  years  of  age.  Do  you  require  further 
details?" 

"  No,"  said  the  Tracer ;  "  please  ring  off." 

Then  he  called  up  General  Information.  "  I 
want  the  Museum  of  Inscriptions.  Get  me  their 
number,  please."  After  a  moment :  "  Is  this  the 
Museum  of  Inscriptions  ?  " 

"  Is  Professor  Boggs  there?  " 
"  Is  this  Professor  Boggs?  " 

"  Could  you  find  time  to  decipher  an  inscription 
for  me  at  once?  " 


110 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Of  course  I  know  you  are  extremely  busy,  but 
have  you  no  assistant  who  could  do  it?  " 

"  What  did  you  say  her  name  is  ?  Miss 
Inwood?  " 

"  Oh  !  And  will  the  young  lady  translate  the 
inscription  at  once  if  I  send  a  copy  of  it  to  her 
by  messenger?  " 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  Professor.  I  will  send 
a  messenger  to  Miss  Inwood  with  a  copy  of  the 
inscription.  Good-by." 

He  hung  up  the  receiver,  turned  thoughtfully, 
opened  the  door  again,  and  walked  into  the  sunlit 
living  room. 

"  Look  here  !  "  cried  the  Captain  in  a  high  state 
of  excitement.  "  I've  got  a  lot  of  numbers  out  of 
it  already." 

"  Wonderful  !  "  murmured  the  Tracer,  looking 
over  the  young  man's  broad  shoulders  at  a  sheet 
of  paper  bearing  these  numbers: 

9—  14—  5—  22—  5—  18—  19—  1—23  —  25—  -15 
—21—2—21—20—15—14—3—5—9  —  12  —  15 
—22—5—25—15—21—5—4—9—20—8—9— 


"  Marvelous  !  "    repeated   the   Tracer,    smiling. 
Ill 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Now  what  do  you  suppose  those  numbers  can 
stand  for?" 

"  Letters ! "  announced  the  Captain  trium 
phantly.  •'  Take  the  number  nine,  for  example. 
The  ninth  letter  in  the  alphabet  is  I !  Mr.  Keen, 
suppose  we  try  writing  down  the  letters  according 
to  that  system !  " 

"  Suppose  we  do,"  agreed  the  Tracer  gravely. 

So,  counting  under  his  breath,  the  young  man 
set  down  the  letters  in  the  following  order,  not 
attempting  to  group  them  into  words: 

INEVERSAWYOUBUTONCEILOVEYOUEDI 
THINWOOD. 

Then  he  leaned  back,  excited,  triumphant. 

"  There  you  are !  "  he  said ;  "  only,  of  course, 
it  makes  no  sense."  He  examined  it  in  silence,  and 
gradually  a  hopeless  expression  effaced  the  anima 
tion.  "  How  the  deuce  am  I  going  to  separate 
that  mass  of  letters  into  words  ?  "  he  muttered. 

"  This  way,"  said  the  Tracer,  smilingly  taking 
the  pencil  from  his  fingers,  and  he  wrote :  I  — 
NEVER  —  SAW  —  YOU  —  BUT  —  ONCE.  I 
-  LOVE  —  YOU.  EDITH  INWOOD. 

Then  he  laid  the  pencil  on  the  table  and  walked 
to  the  window. 

Once  or  twice  he  fancied  that  he  heard  inco- 


THE  TRACER  OF  LOST  PERSONS 

herent  sounds  behind  him.  And  after  a  while  he 
turned,  retracing  his  steps  leisurely.  Captain 
Harren,  extremely  pink,  stood  tugging  at  his 
short  mustache  and  studying  the  papers  on  the 
desk. 

"  Well?  "  inquired  the  Tracer,  amused. 

The  young  man  pointed  to  the  translation  with 
unsteady  finger.  "  W-what  on  earth  does  that 
mean  ?  "  he  demanded  shakily.  "  Who  is  Edith 
In  wood?  W-what  on  earth  does  that  cryptogram 
mean  on  the  window  pane  in  the  photograph? 
How  did  it  come  there?  It  isn't  on  my  window 
pane,  you  see !  " 

The  Tracer  said  quietly :  "  That  is  not  a  pho 
tograph  of  your  window." 

"What!" 

"  No,  Captain.  Here !  Look  at  it  closely 
through  this  glass.  There  are  sixteen  small  panes 
in  that  sash ;  now  count  the  panes  in  your  window 
— eight!  Besides,  look  at  that  curtain.  It  is 
made  of  some  figured  stuff  like  chintz.  Now,  look 
at  your  own  curtain  yonder!  It  is  of  plain 
velour." 

"  But — but  I  took  that  photograph !  She 
stood  there — there  by  that  very  window !  " 

The  Tracer  leaned  over  the  photograph,  exam 
ining  it  through  the  glass.  And,  studying  it,  he 
113 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

said :  "  Do  you  still  see  her  in  this  photograph, 
Captain  Harren  ?  " 

"  Certainly.     Can  you  not  see  her  ?  " 

"  No,"  murmured  the  Tracer,  "  but  I  see  the 
window  which  she  really  stood  by  when  her  phan 
tom  came  here  seeking  you.  And  that  is  suffi 
cient.  Come,  Captain  Harren,  we  are  going  out 
together." 

The  Captain  looked  at  him  earnestly ;  something 
in  Mr.  Keen's  eyes  seemed  to  fascinate  him. 

"  You  think  that  —  that  it's  likely  we  are 
g-going  to  see — her  I "  he  faltered. 

"  If  I  were  you,"  mused  the  Tracer  of  Lost 
Persons,  joining  the  tips  of  his  lean  fingers  medi 
tatively — "  If  I  were  you  I  should  wear  a  silk  hat 
and  a  frock  coat.  It's — it's  afternoon,  anyhow," 
he  added  deprecatingly,  "  and  we  are  liable  to 
make  a  call." 

Captain  Harren  turned  like  a  man  in  a  dream 
and  entered  his  bedroom.  And  when  he  emerged  he 
was  dressed  and  groomed  with  pathetic  precision. 

"  Mr.  Keen,"  he  said,  "  I— I  don't  know  why  I 
am  d-daring  to  hope  for  all  s-sorts  of  things. 
Nothing  you  have  said  really  warrants  it.  But 
somehow  I'm  venturing  to  cherish  an  absurd 
notion  that  I  may  s-see  her." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  Tracer,  smiling. 
114 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST   PERSONS 

"  Mr.  Keen !  You  wouldn't  say  that  if — if 
there  was  no  chance,  would  you?  You  wouldn't 
dash  a  fellow's  hopes " 

"  No,  I  wouldn't,"  said  Mr.  Keen.  "  I  tell  you 
frankly  that  I  expect  to  find  her." 

"To-day?" 

"We'll  see,"  said  Mr.  Keen  guardedly.  "Come, 
Captain,  don't  look  that  way !  Courage,  sir  !  We 
are  about  to  execute  a  turning  movement ;  but  you 
look  like  a  Russian  general  on  his  way  to  the  south 
front." 

Harren  managed  to  laugh;  they  went  out,  side 
by  side,  descended  the  elevator,  and  found  a  cab 
at  the  porte-cochere.  Mr.  Keen  gave  the  direc 
tions  and  followed  the  Captain  into  the  cab. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  as  they  wheeled  south,  "  we  are 
first  going  to  visit  the  Museum  of  Inscriptions 
and  have  this  cipher  translation  verified.  Here 
is  the  cipher  as  I  copied  it.  Hold  it  tightly, 
Captain;  we've  only  a  few  blocks  to  drive." 

Indeed  they  were  already  nearly  there.  The 
hansom  drew  up  in  front  of  a  plain  granite  build 
ing  wedged  in  between  some  rather  elaborate  pri 
vate  dwelling-houses.  Over  the  door  were  letters 
of  dull  bronze: 

AMERICAN   MUSEUM  OF   INSCRIPTIONS 
115 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

and  the  two  men  descended  and  entered  a  wide 
marble  hall  lined  with  glass-covered  cabinets  con 
taining  plaster  casts  of  various  ancient  inscrip 
tions  and  a  few  bronze  and  marble  originals. 
Several  female  frumps  were  nosing  the  exhibits. 

An  attendant  in  livery  stood  in  the  middle  dis 
tance.  The  Tracer  walked  over  to  him.  "  I  have 
an  appointment  to  consult  Miss  Inwood,"  he 
whispered. 

"  This  way,  sir,"  nodded  the  attendant,  and  the 
Tracer  signaled  the  Captain  to  follow. 

They  climbed  several  marble  stairways,  crossed 
a  rotunda,  and  entered  a  room — a  sort  of  library. 
Beyond  was  a  door  which  bore  the  inscription: 

ASSISTANT  CURATOR 

"  Now,"  said  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  in  a 
low  voice  to  Captain  Harren,  "  I  am  going  to  ask 
you  to  sit  here  for  a  few  minutes  while  I  interview 
the  assistant  curator.  You  don't  mind,  do  you?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  mind,"  said  Harren  wearily, 
"  only,  when  are  we  going  to  begin  to  search 
for— her  ?  " 

"  Very  soon — I  may  say  extremely  soon,"  said 
Mr.  Keen  gravely.     "  By  the  way,  I  think  I'll  take 
that  sheet  of  paper  on  which  I  copied  the  cipher. 
Thank  you.     I  won't  be  long." 
116 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST  PERSONS 

The  attendant  had  vanished.  Captain  Harren 
sat  down  by  a  window  and  gazed  out  into  the  late 
afternoon  sunshine.  The  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons, 
treading  softly  across  the  carpeted  floor,  ap 
proached  the  sanctuary,  turned  the  handle,  and 
walked  in,  carefully  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

There  was  a  young  girl  seated  at  a  desk  by  an 
open  window ;  she  looked  up  quietly  as  he  entered, 
then  rose  leisurely. 

"Miss  Inwood?" 

"  Yes." 

She  was  slender,  dark-eyed,  dark-haired  —  a 
lovely,  wholesome  young  creature,  gracious  and 
graceful.  And  that  was  all — for  the  Tracer  of 
Lost  Persons  could  not  see  through  the  eyes  of 
Captain  Harren,  and  perhaps  that  is  why  he  was 
not  able  to  discern  a  miracle  of  beauty  in  the  pretty 
girl  who  confronted  him — no  magic  and  matchless 
marvel  of  transcendent  loveliness — only  a  quiet, 
sweet-faced,  dark-eyed  young  girl  whose  features 
and  figure  were  attractive  in  the  manner  that  youth 
is  always  attractive.  But  then  it  is  a  gift  of  the 
gods  to  see  through  eyes  anointed  by  the  gods. 

The  Tracer  touched  his  gray  mustache  and 
bowed;  the  girl  bowed  very  sweetly. 

"  You  are  Mr.  Keen,"  she  said ;  "  you  have  an 
inscription  for  me  to  translate." 
117 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST  PERSONS 

"  A  mystery  for  young  eyes  to  interpret,"  he 
said,  smiling.  "  May  I  sit  here — and  tell  my  story 
before  I  show  you  my  inscription?  " 

"Please  do,"  she  said,  seating  herself  at  her 
desk  and  facing  him,  one  slender  white  hand  sup 
porting  the  oval  of  her  face. 

The  Tracer  drew  his  chair  a  little  forward. 
"  It  is  a  curious  matter,"  he  said.  "  May  I  give 
you  a  brief  outline  of  the  details  ?  " 

"  By  all  means,  Mr.  Keen." 

"  Then  let  me  begin  by  saying  that  the  inscrip 
tion  of  which  I  have  a  copy  was  probably  scratched 
upon  a  window  pane  by  means  of  a  diamond." 

"  Oh !  Then — then  it  is  not  an  ancient  inscrip 
tion,  Mr.  Keen." 

"  The  theme  is  ancient — the  oldest  theme  in  the 
world — love!  The  cipher  is  old — as  old  as  King 
Solomon."  She  looked  up  quickly.  The  Tracer, 
apparently  engrossed  in  his  own  story,  went  on 
with  it.  "  Three  years  ago  the  young  girl  who 
wrote  this  inscription  upon  the  window  pane  of 
her — her  bedroom,  I  think  it  was — fell  in  love. 
Do  you  follow  me,  Miss  In  wood  ?  " 

Miss  Inwood  sat  very  still — wide,  dark  eyes 
fixed  on  him. 

"  Fell  in  love,"  repeated  the  Tracer  musingly, 
"  not  in  the  ordinary  way.  That  is  the  point,  you 
118 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

see.  No,  she  fell  in  love  at  first  sight ;  fell  in  love 
with  a  young  man  whom  she  never  before  had  seen, 
never  again  beheld — and  never  forgot.  Do  you 
still  follow  me,  Miss  Inwood?  " 

She  made  the  slightest  motion  with  her  lips. 

"  No,"  mused  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons,  "  she 
never  forgot  him.  I  am  not  sure,  but  I  think  she 
sometimes  dreamed  of  him.  She  dreamed  of  him 
awake,  too.  Once  she  inscribed  a  message  to  him, 
cutting  it  with  the  diamond  in  her  ring  on  the 
window  pane " 

A  slight  sound  escaped  from  Miss  Inwood's  lips. 
66 1  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Tracer,  "  did  you 
say  something?  " 

The  girl  had  risen,  pale,  astounded,  incredulous. 

"Who  are  you?"  she  faltered.  "What  has 
this — this  story  to  do  with  me  ?  " 

"  Child,"  said  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons,  "  the 
Seal  of  Solomon  is  a  splendid  mystery.  All  of 
heaven  and  earth  are  included  within  its  symbol. 
And  more,  more  than  you  dream  of,  more  than  I 
dare  fathom;  and  I  am  an  old  man,  my  child — 
old,  alone,  with  nobody  to  fear  for,  nothing  to 
dread,  not  even  the  end  of  all — because  I  am  ready 
for  that,  too.  Yet  I,  having  nothing  on  earth  to 
dread,  dare  not  fathom  what  that  symbol  may 
mean,  nor  what  vast  powers  it  may  exert  on  life. 
9  119 


THE  TRACER  OF  LOST  PERSONS 

God  knows.  It  may  be  the  very  signet  of  Fate 
itself;  the  sign  manual  of  Destiny." 

He  drew  the  paper  from  his  pocket,  unrolled  it, 
and  spread  it  out  under  her  frightened  eyes. 

"  That! "  she  whispered,  steadying  herself 
blindly  against  the  arm  he  offered.  She  stood  a 
moment  so,  then,  shuddering,  covered  her  eyes  with 
both  hands.  The  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  looked 
at  her,  turned  and  opened  the  door. 

"  Captain  Harren !  "  he  called  quietly.  Har- 
ren,  pacing  the  anteroom,  turned  and  came  for 
ward.  As  he  entered  the  door  he  caught  sight  of 
the  girl  crouching  by  the  window,  her  face  hidden 
in  her  hands,  and  at  the  same  moment  she  dropped 
her  hands  and  looked  straight  at  him. 

"  You  !  "  she  gasped. 

The  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  stepped  out,  clos 
ing  the  door.  For  a  moment  he  stood  there,  tall, 
gaunt,  gray,  staring  vacantly  into  space. 

"  She  was  beautiful — when  she  looked  at  him," 
he  muttered. 

For  another  minute  he  stood  there,  hesitating, 
glancing  backward  at  the  closed  door.  Then  he 
went  away,  stooping  slightly,  his  top  hat  held 
close  against  the  breast  of  his  tightly  buttoned 
frock  coat. 


120 


CHAPTER    XI 

DURING  his  first  year  of  wedded  bliss,  Gatewood 
cut  the  club.  When  Kerns  wanted  to  see  him  he 
had  to  call  like  other  people  or,  like  other  people, 
accept  young  Mrs.  Gatewood's  invitations. 

"  Why,"  said  Gatewood  scornfully,  "  should  I, 
thirty-four  years  of  age  and  safely  married,  go 
to  a  club?  Why  should  I,  at  my  age,  idle  with  a 
lot  of  idlers  and  listen  to  stuffy  stories  from 
stuffier  individuals?  Do  you  think  that  stale 
tobacco  smoke,  and  the  idiotically  reiterated  click 
of  billiard  balls,  and  the  vacant  stare  of  the  fash 
ionably  brainless,  and  the  meaningless  exchange  of 
banalities  with  the  intellectually  aimless  have  any 
attractions  for  me  ?  " 

Mrs.  Gatewood  raised  her  pretty  eyes  in  silence ; 
Kerns  returned  her  amused  gaze  rather  blankly. 

"  Clubs  !  "  sniffed  Gatewood.  "  What  are  clubs 
but  pretexts  for  wasting  time?  What  mental, 
what  spiritual  stimulus  can  a  man  expect  to  find 
in  a  club?  Why,  Kerns,  when  I  look  back  a  year 
and  think  what  I  was,  and  when  I  look  at  you  and 
think  what  you  still  are " 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  John,"  said  Mrs.  Gatewood  softly. 

"Oh,  he  knows  it!"  insisted  her  husband, 
"  don't  you,  Tommy?  You  know  the  sort  of  life 
you're  leading,  don't  you?  You  know  what  a 
miserable,  aimless,  selfish,  unambitious,  pitiable 
existence  an  unmarried  man  leads  who  lives  at 
his  club ;  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Kerns,  blinking  into  the  smil 
ing  gaze  of  Mrs.  Gatewood. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  marry  ?  " 

But  Kerns  had  risen  and  was  making  his  adieus 
with  cheerful  decision ;  and  Mrs.  Gatewood  was 
laughing  as  she  gave  him  her  slender  hand. 

"  Now  I  know  a  girl—  '  began  Gatewood ; 
but  his  wife  was  still  speaking  to  Kerns,  so  he 
circled  around  them,  politely  suppressing  the  ex 
citement  of  a  sudden  idea  struggling  for  utter 
ance. 

Mrs.  Gatewood  was  saying :  "  I  do  wish  John 
would  go  to  his  clubs  occasionally.  Because  a  man 
is  married  is  no  reason  for  his  losing  touch  with 
his  clubs " 

"  I  know  a  girl,"  broke  in  Gatewood  excitedly, 
laying  his  arm  on  Kerns's  to  detain  him;  but 
Kerns  slid  sideways  through  the  door  with  a  smile 
so  noncommittal  that  Mrs.  Gatewood  laughed 
again  and,  linking  her  arm  in  her  husband's,  faced 
122 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

partly  toward  him.  This  maneuver,  and  the 
slightest  pressure  of  her  shoulder,  obliged  her 
husband  to  begin  a  turning  movement,  so  that 
Kerns  might  reasonably  make  his  escape  in  the 
middle  of  Gatewood's  sentence ;  which  he  did  with 
nimble  and  circumspect  agility. 

"  I — I  know  a "  began  Gatewood  desper 
ately,  twisting  his  head  over  his  shoulder,  only  to 
hear  the  deadened  patter  of  his  friend's  feet  over 
the  velvet  stair  carpet  and  the  subdued  clang  of 
the  front  door. 

"  Isn't  it  extraordinary  ?  "  he  said  to  his  wife. 
"  I've  been  trying  to  tell  Tommy,  every  time  he 
comes  here,  about  a  girl  I  know— just  the  very  girl 
he  ought  to  marry ;  and  something  prevents  him 
from  listening  every  time." 

The  attractive  young  matron  beside  him  turned 
her  face  so  that  her  eyes  were  directly  in  line 
with  his. 

"  Did  you  ever  know  any  people  named  Man 
ners  ?  "  she  asked. 
"No.    Why?" 

"  You  never  knew  a  girl  named  Marjorie  Man 
ners,  did  you,  John  ?  " 

"No.    What  about  her?" 

"  You  never  heard  Mr.  Kerns  speak  of  her,  did 
you,  dear?  " 

123 


THE  TRACER  OF  LOST  PERSONS 

"  No,  never.     Tommy  doesn't  talk  about  girls." 
"  You  never  heard  him  speak  of  a  Mrs.  Stan 
ley?" 

"  Never.  Who  are  these  two  women?  " 
"  One  and  the  same,  dear.  Marjorie  Man 
ners  married  an  Englishman  named  Stanley  six 
years  ago.  Do  you  happen  to  recollect  that 
Mr.  Kerns  took  his  vacation  in  England  six 
years  ago?  " 

"Yes.     What  of  it?  " 

"  He  crossed  to  Southampton  with  Marjorie 
and  her  mother.  He  didn't  know  she  was  going 
over  to  be  married,  and  she  didn't  tell  him.  She 
wrote  to  me  about  it,  though.  I  was  in  school  at 
Farmington;  she  left  school  to  marry — a  mere 
child  of  eighteen,  undeveloped  for  her  age,  thin, 
almost  scrawny,  with  pipe-stem  arms  and  neck, 
red  hair,  a  very  sweet,  full-lipped  mouth,  and  gray 
eyes  that  were  too  big  for  her  face." 

"Well,"  said  Gatewood  with  a  short  laugh, 
"what  about  it?  You  don't  think  Kerns  fell  in 
love  with  an  insect  of  that  genus,  do  you?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  smiled  Mrs.  Gatewood. 

"Nonsense.  Besides,  what  of  it?  She's  mar 
ried,  you  say." 

"  Her  husband  died  of  enteric  at  Ladysmith. 
She  wrote  me.  She  has  never  remarried.  Think 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

of  it,  John — in  all  these  years  she  has  never  re 
married  ! " 

"  Oh !  "  said  Gatewood  pityingly ;  "  do  you 
really  suppose  that  Tommy  Kerns  has  been  nurs 
ing  a  blighted  affection  all  these  years  without 
ever  giving  me  an  inkling?  Besides,  men  don't  do 
that ;  men  don't  curl  up  and  blight.  Besides,  men 
don't  take  any  stock  in  big-eyed,  flat-chested,  red 
headed  pipe  stems.  Why  do  you  think  that  Kerns 
ever  cared  for  her  ?  " 

"  I  know  he  did." 

"  How  do  you  know  it?  " 

u  From  Marjorie's  letters." 

"  The  conceited  kid !  Well,  of  all  insufferable 
nerve!  A  man  like  Kerns — a  man — one  of  the 
finest,  noblest  characters — spiritually,  intellectu 
ally,  physically — a  practically  faultless  specimen 
of  manhood !  And  a  red-headed,  spindle-legged— 
Oh,  my !  Oh,  fizz !  Dearest,  men  don't  worship  a 
cage  of  bones  with  an  eighteen-year-old  soul  in  it — 
like  a  nervous  canary  pecking  out  at  the  world !  " 

"  She  created  a  furor  in  England,"  observed  his 
wife,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  she  might  over  there.  Besides, 
she's  doubtless  fattened  up  since  then.  But  if  you 
suppose  for  one  moment  that  Tommy  could  even 

remember  a  girl  like  that " 

125 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

Mrs.  Gatewood  smiled  again — the  wise,  sweet 
smile  of  a  young  matron  in  whom  her  husband's 
closest  friend  had  confided.  And  after  a  moment 
or  two  the  wise  smile  became  more  thoughtful  and 
less  assured ;  for  that  very  day  the  Tracer  of  Lost 
Persons  had  called  on  her  to  inquire  about  a  Mrs. 
Stanley — a  new  client  of  his  who  had  recently 
bought  a  town  house  in  East  Eighty-third  Street 
and  a  country  house  on  Long  Island ;  and  who  had 
applied  to  him  to  find  her  fugitive  butler  and  a 
pint  or  two  of  family  jewels.  And,  after  her  talk 
with  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons,  Mrs.  Gatewood 
knew  that  her  favorite  among  all  her  husband's 
friends,  Mr.  Kerns,  would  never  of  his  own  volition 
go  near  that  same  Marjorie  Manners  who  had 
flirted  with  him  to  the  very  perilous  verge  before 
she  told  him  why  she  was  going  to  England — 
and  who,  now  a  widow,  had  returned  with  her  five- 
year-old  daughter  to  dwell  once  more  in  the  city 
of  her  ancestors. 

Kerns  had  said  very  simply :  "  She  has  spoiled 
women  for  me — all  except  you,  Mrs.  Gatewood. 
And  if  Jack  hadn't  married  you — 

"  I  understand,  Mr.  Kerns.      I'm  awfully  sorry." 

"  Don't  feel  sorry ;  only,  if  you  can,  call  Jack 
off.     He's  been  perfectly  possessed  to  marry  me 
to  somebody  ever  since  he  married  you.     And  if 
126 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST  PERSONS 

I  told  him  why  I  don't  care  to  consider  the  matter 
he  wouldn't  believe  me — he'd  spend  his  life  in  try 
ing  to  bring  me  around.  Besides,  I  couldn't  ever 
tell  him  about — Marjorie  Manners.  Anyhow, 
nothing  on  earth  could  ever  induce  me  to  look  at 
her  again.  .  .  .  You  say  she  is  now  a  widow?  " 
"  Yes,  Mr.  Kerns,  and  very  beautiful." 
"  Never  again,"  muttered  Kerns.  "  Never ! 
She  was  homely  enough  when  I  asked  her  to  marry 
me.  I  don't  want  to  see  her ;  I  don't  want  to  know 
what  she  looks  like.  I'm  glad  she  has  changed  so 
I  wouldn't  recognize  her,  for  that  means  the  end 
of  it  all — the  final  elimination  of  the  girl  I  remem 
ber  on  the  ship.  ...  It  was  probably  a  sort  of 
diseased  infatuation,  wasn't  it,  Mrs.  Gatewood? 
Think  of  it !  A  few  days  on  shipboard  and — and 
I  asked  her  to  marry  me !  ...  I  don't  blame  her, 
after  all,  for  letting  me  dangle.  It  was  an  excel 
lent  opportunity  for  her  to  study  a  rare  species  of 
idiot.  She  was  justified  and  I  am  satisfied.  Only, 
do  call  Jack  off  with  a  hint  or  two." 

"  I  shall  try,"  said  young  Mrs.  Gatewood 
thoughtfully  —  very  thoughtfully,  for  already 
every  atom  and  fiber  of  her  femininity  was  aroused 
in  behalf  of  these  two  estranged  young  people 
whom  Providence  certainly  had  not  meant  to  put 
asunder. 


CHAPTER    XII 

"  NOTHING,"  said  Gatewood  firmly,  "  can  make 
me  believe  that  Kerns  ought  not  to  marry  some 
body  ;  and  I'm  never  going  to  let  up  on  him  until 
he  does.  I'll  bet  I  could  fix  him  for  life  if  I  called 
in  the  Tracer  to  help  me.  Isn't  it  extraordinary 
how  Kerns  has  kept  out  of  it  all  these  years  ?  " 

The  attractive  girl  beside  him  turned  her  face 
once  more  so  that  her  clear,  sweet  eyes  were  di 
rectly  in  line  with  his. 

"  It  is  extraordinary,"  she  said  seriously.  "  I 
think  you  ought  to  drop  in  at  the  club  some  day 
when  you  can  corner  him  and  bully  him." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  to  the  club,"  said  the 
infatuated  man. 

"Why,  dear?" 

He  looked  straight  at  her  and  she  flushed  pret 
tily,  while  a  tint  of  color  touched  his  own  face. 
Which  was  very  nice  of  him.  So  she  didn't  say 
what  she  was  going  to  say — that  it  would  be  per 
haps  better  for  them  both  if  he  practiced  on  her 
an  artistic  absence  now  and  then.  Younger  in 
128 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

years,  she  was  more  mature  than  he.  She  knew. 
But  she  was  too  much  in  love  with  him  to  salt  their 
ambrosia  with  common  sense  or  suggest  economy 
in  their  use  of  the  nectar  bottle. 

However,  the  gods  attend  to  that,  and  she  knew 
they  would,  and  she  let  them.  So  one  balmy  eve 
ning  late  in  May,  when  the  new  moon's  ghost 
floated  through  the  upper  haze,  and  the  golden 
Diana  above  Manhattan  turned  flame  color,  and 
the  electric  lights  began  to  glimmer  along  Fifth 
Avenue,  and  the  first  faint  scent  of  the  young 
summer  freshened  the  foliage  in  square  and  park, 
Kerns,  stopping  at  the  club  for  a  moment,  found 
Gatewood  seated  at  the  same  window  they  both 
were  wont  to  haunt  in  earlier  and  more  flippant 
days. 

"  Are  you  dining  here?  "  inquired  Kerns,  push 
ing  the  electric  button  with  enthusiasm.  "  Well, 
that's  the  first  glimmer  of  common  sense  you've 
betrayed  since  you've  been  married !  " 

"  Dining  here  ! "  repeated  Gatewood.  "  I 
should  hope  not !  I  am  j  ust  going  home " 

"  He's  thoroughly  cowed,"  commented  Kerns ; 
"  every  married  man  you  meet  at  the  club  is  just 
going  home."  But  he  continued  to  push  the 
button,  nevertheless. 

Gatewood  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  gazed 
129 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

about  him,  nose  in  the  air.  "  What  a  life !  "  he 
observed  virtuously.  "  It's  all  I  can  do  to  stand 
it  for  ten  minutes.  You're  here  for  the  evening, 
I  suppose?  "  he  added  pityingly. 

"  No,"  said  Kerns ;  "  I'm  going  uptown  to  Billy 
Lee's  house  to  get  my  suit  case.  His  family  are 
out  of  town,  and  he  is  at  Seabright,  so  he  let  me 
camp  there  until  the  workmen  finish  papering  my 
rooms  upstairs.  I'm  to  lock  up  the  house  and 
send  the  key  to  the  Burglar  Alarm  Company 
to-night.  Then  I  go  to  Boston  on  the  12.10. 
Want  to  come?  There'll  be  a  few  doing." 

"  To  Boston  !    What  for?  " 

"  Contracts !  We  can  go  out  to  Cambridge 
when  I've  finished  my  business.  There'll  be  etwas 
doing." 

"  Can't  you  ever  recover  from  being  an  under 
graduate?  "  asked  Gatewood,  disgusted. 

"  Well — is  there  anything  the  matter  with  a 
man  getting  next  to  a  little  amusement  in  life?  " 
asked  Kerns.  "  Do  you  object  to  my  being 
happy  ?  " 

"Amusement?  You  don't  know  how  to  amuse 
yourself.  You  don't  know  how  to  be  happy. 
Here  you  sit,  day  after  day,  swallowing  Mar 
tinis He  paused  to  finish  his  own,  then  re 
sumed  :  "  Here  you  sit,  day  after  day,  intel- 
130 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST  PERSONS 

lectually  stultified,  unemotionally  ignorant  of  the 

higher  and  better  life ': 

"  No,  I  don't.  I've  a  book  upstairs  that  tells 
all  about  that.  I  read  it  when  I  have  hold 
overs » 

"  Kerns,  I  wish  to  speak  seriously.  I've  had  it 
on  my  mind  ever  since  I  married.  May  I  speak 
frankly?" 

"  Well,  when  I  come  back  from  Boston :" 

"  Because  I  know  a  girl,"  interrupted  Gate- 
wood — "  wait  a  moment,  Tommy !  "  — as  Kerns 
rose  and  sauntered  toward  the  door — "  you've 
plenty  of  time  to  catch  your  train  and  be  civil, 
too !  I  mean  to  tell  you  about  that  girl,  if  you'll 
listen." 

Kerns  halted  and  turned  upon  his  friend  a  pair 
of  eyes,  unwinking  in  their  placid  intelligence. 

"  I  was  going  to  say  that  I  know  a  girl,"  con 
tinued  Gatewood,  "  who  is  just  the  sort  of  a  girl 
you " 

"  No,  she  isn't ! "  said  Kerns,  wheeling  to  re 
sume  his  progress  toward  the  cloakroom. 

"Tom!" 

Kerns  halted. 

"  You're  a  fine  specimen ! "  commented  Gate- 
wood  scornfully.  "  You  spent  the  best  years  of 
your  life  in  persuading  me  to  get  married,  and  the 
131 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

first  time  I  try  to  do  the  same  for  you,  you  make 
for  the  tall  timber !  " 

"  I  know  it,"  admitted  Kerns,  unashamed ;  "  I'm 
bashful.  I'm  a  chipmunk  for  shyness,  so  I'll  say 
good  night " 

"  Come  back,"  said  Gatewood  coldly. 

"  But  my  suit  case — 

"You  left  it  at  the  Lee's,  didn't  you?  Well, 
you've  time  enough  to  go  there,  get  it,  make  your 
train,  and  listen  to  me,  too.  Look  here,  Kerns, 
have  you  any  of  the  elements  of  decency  about 
you?" 

"  No,"  said  Kerns,  "  not  a  single  element."  He 
seated  himself  defiantly  in  the  club  window  facing 
Gatewood  and  began  to  button  his  gloves.  When 
he  had  finished  he  settled  his  new  straw  hat  more 
comfortably  on  his  head,  and,  leaning  forward  and 
balancing  his  malacca  walking  stick  across  his 
knees,  gazed  at  Gatewood  with  composure. 

"  Crank  up !  "  he  said  pleasantly ;  "  I'm  going 
in  less  than  three  minutes."  He  pushed  the  elec 
tric  knob  as  an  afterthought,  and  when  the  gilt 
buttons  of  the  club  servant  glimmered  through  the 
dusk,  "  Two  more,"  he  explained  briskly.  After 
a  few  moments'  silence,  broken  by  the  tinkle  of 
ice  in  thin  glassware,  Gatewood  leaned  forward, 
menacing  his  friend  with  an  impressive  forefinger: 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Did  you  or  didn't  you  once  tell  me  that  a 
decent  citizen  ought  to  marry  ?  " 

"  I  did,  dear  friend." 

"Did  I  or  didn't  I  do  it?" 

"  In  the  words  of  the  classic,  you  done  it,"  ad 
mitted  Kerns. 

"  Was  I  or  wasn't  I  going  to  the  devil  before  I 
had  the  sense  to  marry  ?  "  persisted  Gatewood. 

"  You  was !  You  was,  dear  friend ! "  said 
Kerns  with  enthusiasm.  "  You  had  almost  went 
there  ere  I  appeared  and  saved  you." 

"  Then  why  shouldn't  you  marry  and  let  me 
save  you  ?  " 

"  But  I'm  not  going  to  the  bowwows.  I'm  all 
right.  I'm  a  decent  citizen.  I  awake  in  the  rosy 
dawn  with  a  song  on  my  lips ;  I  softly  whistle  rag 
time  as  I  button  my  collar;  I  warble  a  few  de 
licious  vagrant  notes  as  I  part  my  sparse  hair; 
I'm  not  murderous  before  breakfast;  I  go  down 
town,  singing,  to  my  daily  toil ;  I  fish  for  fat 
contracts  in  Georgia  marble ;  I  return  uptown  im 
mersed  in  a  holy  cairn  and  the  evening  paper.  I 
offer  myself  a  cocktail ;  I  bow  and  accept ;  I  dress 
for  dinner  with  the  aid  of  a  rascally  valet,  but — 
do  I  swear  at  him?  No,  dear  friend;  I  say, 
4  Henry,  I  have  known  far,  far  worse  scoundrels 
than  you.  Thank  you  for  filling  up  my  bay  rum 
133 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

with  water.  Bless  you  for  wearing  my  imported 
hosiery !  I  deeply  regret  that  my  new  shirts  do 
not  fit  you,  Henry ! '  And  my  smile  is  a  benedic 
tion  upon  that  wayward  scullion.  Then,  dear 
friend,  why,  why  do  you  desire  to  offer  me  up 
upon  the  altar  of  unrest?  What  is  a  little  wifey 
to  me  or  I  to  any  wifey?  " 

"  Because,"  said  Gatewood  irritated,  "  you 
offered  me  up.  I'm  happy  and  I  want  you  to 
be — you  great,  hulking,  self-satisfied  symbol  of 
supreme  self-centered  selfishness " 

"  Oh,  splash !  "  said  Kerns  feebly. 

"Yes,  you  are.  What  do  you  do  all  day? 
Grub  for  money  and  study  how  to  make  life  agree 
able  to  yourself!  Every  minute  of  the  day  you 
are  occupied  in  having  a  good  time !  You've  ad 
mitted  it!  You  wake  up  singing  like  a  fool 
canary ;  you  wear  imported  hosiery ;  you've  made 
a  soft,  warm  wallow  for  yourself  at  this  club,  and 
here  you  bask  your  life  away,  waddling  down 
town  to  nail  contracts  and  cut  coupons,  and 
uptown  to  dinners  and  theaters,  only  to  return 
and  sprawl  here  in  luxury  without  one  sin 
gle  thought  for  posterity.  Your  crime  is  race 
suicide !  " 

"  I— my— what !  " 

"  Certainly.     Some  shirk  taxes,  some  jury  duty. 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

You  shirk  fatherhood,  and  all  its  happy  and 
sacred  obligations !  You  deny  posterity !  You 
strike  a  blow  at  it !  You  flout  it !  You  menace  the 
future  of  this  Republic!  Your  inertia  is  a  crime 
against  the  people !  Instead  of  pro  bono  publico 
your  motto  is  pro  bono  tempo — for  a  good  time! 
And,  dog  Latin  or  not,  it's  the  truth,  and  our 
great  President " 

"  Splash !  "  said  Kerns,  rising. 

"  I've  a  good  mind,"  said  Gatewood  indig 
nantly,  "  to  put  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  on 
your  trail.  He'd  rope  you  and  tie  you  in  record 
time!" 

Kerns's  smile  was  a  provocation. 

"  I'll  do  it,  too !  "  added  Gatewood,  losing  his 
temper,  "  if  you  dare  give  me  the  chance." 

"  Seriously,"  inquired  Kerns,  delighted,  "  do 
you  think  your  friend,  Mr.  Keen,  could  en 
compass  my  matrimony  against  my  better  sense 
and  the  full  enjoyment  of  my  unimpaired  mental 
faculties?" 

"  Didn't  he — fortunately  for  me — force  me 
into  matrimony  when  I  had  never  seen  a  woman 
I  would  look  at  twice?  Didn't  you  put  him  up 
to  it?  Very  well,  why  can't  I  put  him  on  your 
trail  then?  Why  can't  he  do  the  same  for 


you?" 


10  135 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Try  it,  dear  friend,"  retorted  Kerns  cour 
teously. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  not  afraid?  Do 
you  mean  you  give  me  full  liberty  to  set  him  on 
you?  And  do  you  realize  what  that  means?  No, 
you  don't ;  for  you  haven't  a  notion  of  what  that 
man,  Westrel  Keen,  can  accomplish.  You  haven't 
the  slightest  idea  of  the  machinery  which  he  con 
trols  with  a  delicacy  absolutely  faultless;  with  a 
perfectly  terrifying  precision.  Why,  man,  the 
Pinkerton  system  itself  has  become  merely  a  detail 
in  the  immense  complexity  of  the  system  of  con 
trol  which  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  exercises 
over  this  entire  continent.  The  urban  police,  the 
State  constabulary  of  Pennsylvania,  the  rural  sys 
tems  of  surveillance,  the  Secret  Service,  all  munici 
pal,  provincial,  State,  and  national  organizations 
form  but  a  few  strands  in  the  universal  web  he  has 
woven.  Custom  officials,  revenue  officers,  the  mili 
tia  of  the  States,  the  army,  the  navy,  the  personnel 
of  every  city,  State,  and  national  legislative  bodies 
form  interdependent  threads  in  the  mesh  he  is 
master  of ;  and,  like  a  big  beneficent  spider,  he  sits 
in  the  center  of  his  web,  able  to  tell  by  the  slightest 
tremor  of  any  thread  exactly  where  to  begin 
investigations ! " 

Flushed,  earnest,  a  trifle  out  of  breath  with  his 
136 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

own  eloquence,  Gatewood  waved  his  hand  to  indi 
cate  a  Ciceronian  period,  adding,  as  Kerns's  in 
credulous  smile  broadened :  "  Say  splash  again, 
and  I'll  put  you  at  his  mercy !  " 

"  Ker-splash !  dear  friend,"  observed  Kerns 
pleasantly.  "  If  a  man  doesn't  want  to  marry, 
the  army,  the  navy,  the  Senate,  the  white  wings, 
and  the  great  White  Father  at  Washington  can't 
make  him." 

"  I  tell  you  I  want  to  see  you  happy !  "  said 
Gatewood  angrily. 

"  Then  gaze  upon  me.    I'm  it !  " 

"  You're  not !  You  don't  know  what  hap 
piness  is." 

"Don't  I?  Well,  I  don't  miss  it,  dear 
friend -" 

"  But  if  you've  never  had  it,  and  therefore 
don't  miss  it,  it's  time  somebody  found  some  real 
happiness  for  you.  Kerns,  I  simply  can't  bear  to 
see  you  missing  so  much  happiness ' 

"Why  grieve?" 

"  Yes,  I  will !  I  do  grieve — in  spite  of  your 
grinning  skepticism  and  your  bantering  attitude. 
See  here,  Tom ;  I've  started  about  a  thousand 
times  to  say  that  I  knew  a  girl " 

"  Do  you  want  to  hear  that  splash  again  ?  " 

Gatewood  grew  madder.  He  said :  "  I  could 
137 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

easily  lay  your  case  before  Mr.  Keen  and  have 
you  in  love  and  married  and  happy  whether  you 
like  it  or  not!" 

"  If  I  were  not  going  to  Boston,  my  son,  I 
should  enjoy  your  misguided  efforts,"  returned 
Kerns  blandly. 

"  Your  going  to  Boston  makes  no  difference. 
The  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  doesn't  care  where 
you  go  or  what  you  do.  If  he  starts  in  on  your 
case,  Tommy,  you  can't  escape." 

"You  mean  he  can  catch  me  now?  Here?  At 
my  own  club  ?  Or  on  the  public  highway  ?  Or  on 
the  classic  Boston  train  ?  " 

"  He  could.  Yes,  I  firmly  believe  he  could  land 
you  before  you  ever  saw  the  Boston  State  House. 
I  tell  you  he  can  work  like  lightning,  Kerns.  I 
know  it;  I  am  so  absolutely  convinced  of  it  that 
I — I  almost  hesitate " 

"  Don't  feel  delicate  about  it,"  laughed  Kerns ; 
"  you  may  call  him  on  the  telephone  while  I  go 
uptown  and  get  my  suit  case.  Perhaps  I'll  come 
back  a  blushing  bridegroom ;  who  knows  ?  " 

"  If  you'll  wait  here  I'll  call  him  up  now,"  said 
Gatewood  grimly. 

"  Oh,  very  well.     Only  I  left  my  suit  case  in 
Billy's  room,  and  it's  full  of  samples  of  Georgia 
marble,  and  I've  got  to  get  it  to  the  train." 
138 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  You've  plenty  of  time.  If  you'll  wait  until  I 
talk  to  Mr.  Keen  I'll  dine  with  you  here.  Will 
you?" 

"  What?  Dine  in  this  abandoned  joint  with  an 
outcast  like  me?  Dear  friend,  are  you  dippy  this 
lovely  May  evening?  " 

"  I'll  do  it  if  you'll  wait.  Will  you?  And  I'll 
bet  you  now  that  I'll  have  you  in  love  and  sprint 
ing  toward  the  altar  before  we  meet  again  at  this 
club.  Do  you  dare  bet  ?  " 

"  The  terms  of  the  wager,  kind  friend  ? " 
drawled  Kerns,  delighted ;  and  he  fished  out  a  note 
book  kept  for  such  transactions. 

"  Let  me  see,"  reflected  Gatewood ;  "  you'll  need 
a  silver  service  when  you're  married.  .  .  .  Well, 
say,  forks  and  spoons  and  things  against  an  im 
ported  trap  gun — twelve-gauge,  you  know." 

"  Done.  Go  and  telephone  to  your  friend,  Mr. 
Keen."  And  Kerns  pushed  the  electric  button  with 
a  jeering  laugh,  and  asked  the  servant  for  a 
dinner  card 


139 


CHAPTER    XIII 

GATEWOOD,  in  the  telephone  booth,  waited  impa 
tiently  for  Mr.  Keen;  and  after  a  few  moments 
the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons'  agreeable  voice 
sounded  in  the  receiver. 

"  It's  about  Mr.  Kerns,"  began  Gatewood ;  "  I 
want  to  see  him  happy,  and  the  idiot  won't  be. 
Now,  Mr.  Keen,  you  know  what  happiness  you  and 
he  brought  to  me!  You  know  what  sort  of  an 
idle,  selfish,  aimless,  meaningless  life  you  saved  me 
from?  I  want  you  to  do  the  same  for  Mr.  Kerns. 
I  want  to  ask  you  to  take  up  his  case  at  once.  Be 
sides,  I've  a  bet  on  it.  Could  you  attend  to  it  at 
once  ?  " 

"  To-night?  "  asked  the  Tracer,  laughing. 

"  Why — ah — well,  of  course,  that  would  be  im 
possible.  I  suppose — 

"  My  profession  is  to  overcome  the  impossible, 
Mr.  Gatewood.  Where  is  Mr.  Kerns  ?  " 

"  Here,  in  this  club,  defying  me  and  drinking 
cocktails.  He  won't  get  married,  and  I  want  you 
to  make  him  do  it." 

140 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Where  is  he  spending  the  evening?"  asked 
the  Tracer,  laughing  again. 

"  Why,  he's  been  stopping  at  the  Danforth 
Lees'  in  Eighty-third  Street  until  the  workmen 
at  the  club  here  finish  putting  new  paper  on  his 
walls.  The  Lees  are  out  of  town.  He  left  his 
suit  case  at  their  house  and  he's  going  up  to  get 
it  and  catch  the  12.10  train  for  Boston." 

"  He  goes  from  the  Lenox  Club  to  the  residence 
of  Mr.  W.  Danforth  Lee,  East  Eighty-third 
Street,  to  get  a  suit  case,"  repeated  the  Tracer. 
"Is  that  correct?" 

"  Yes." 

"  What  is  in  the  suit  case?  " 

"  Samples  of  that  new  marble  he's  quarrying  in 
Georgia." 

"  Is  it  an  old  suit  case  ?  Has  it  Mr.  Kerns's 
initials  on  it  ?  " 

"  Hold  the  wire ;  I'll  find  out." 

And  Gatewood  left  the  telephone  and  walked 
into  the  great  lounging  room,  where  Kerns  sat 
twirling  his  stick  and  smiling  to  himself. 

"  All  over,  dear  friend?  "  inquired  Kerns,  start 
ing  to  rise.  "  I've, ordered  a  corking  dinner." 

"  Wait ! "  returned  Gatewood  ominously. 
"  What  sort  of  a  suit  case  is  that  one  you're 
going  after  ?  " 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  What  sort?    Oh,  just  an  ordinary " 

"Is  it  old  or  new?" 

"Brand  new.     Why?" 

"  Is  your  name  on  it  ?  " 

"  No ;  why  ?  Would  that  thicken  the  plot,  dear 
friend?  Or  is  the  Tracer  foiled,  ha !  ha !  " 

Gatewood  turned  on  his  heel,  went  back  to  the 
telephone,  and,  carefully  shutting  the  door  of  the 
booth,  took  up  the  receiver. 

"  It's  a  new  suit  case,  Mr.  Keen,"  he  said ;  "  no 
initials  on  it — just  an  ordinary  case." 

"  Mr.  Lee's  residence  is  38  East  Eighty-third 
Street,  between  Madison  and  Fifth,  I  believe." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Gatewood. 

"  And  the  family  are  out  of  town  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Is  there  a  caretaker  there  ?  " 

"  No ;  Mr.  Kerns  camped  there.  When  he  leaves 
to-night  he  will  send  the  key  to  the  Burglar  Alarm 
Company." 

"  Very  well.     Please  hold  the  wire  for  a  while." 

For  ten  full  minutes  Gatewood  sat  gleefully 
cuddling  the  receiver  against  his  ear.  His  faith  in 
Mr.  Keen  was  naturally  boundless ;  he  believed 
that  whatever  the  Tracer  attempted  could  not 
result  in  failure.  He  desired  nothing  in  the  world 
so  ardently  as  to  see  Kerns  safely  married.  His 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

own  happiness  may  have  been  the  motive  power 
which  had  set  him  in  action  in  behalf  of  his  friend 
— that  and  a  certain  indefinable  desire  to  practice 
a  species  of  heavenly  revenge,  of  grateful  retalia 
tion  upon  the  prime  mover  and  collaborateur,  if 
not  the  sole  author,  of  his  own  wedded  bliss.  Kerns 
had  made  him  happy. 

"And  I'm  hanged  if  I  don't  pay  him  off 
and  make  him  happy,  too !  "  muttered  Gatewood. 
"  Does  he  think  I'm  going  to  sit  still  and  see  him 
go  tearing  and  gyrating  about  town  with  no  re 
sponsibility,  no  moral  check  to  his  evolutions,  no 
wholesome  home  duties  to  limit  his  acrobatics,  no 
wife  to  clip  his  wings  ?  It's  time  he  had  somebody 
to  report  to;  time  he  assumed  moral  burdens  and 
spiritual  responsibilities.  A  man  is  just  as  happy 
when  he  is  certain  where  he  is  going  to  sleep.  A 
man  can  find  just  as  much  enjoyment  in  life  when 
he  feels  it  his  duty  to  account  for  his  movements. 
I  don't  care  whether  Kerns  is  comparatively 
happy  or  not — there's  nothing  either  sacred  or 
holy  in  that  kind  of  happiness,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  endure  the  sort  of  life  he  likes  any 
longer ! " 

Immersed  in  moral  reflections,  inspired  by  af 
fectionate  obligations  to  violently  inflict  happiness 
upon  Kerns,  the  minutes  passed  very  agreeably 
143 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

until  the  amused  voice  of  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Per 
sons  sounded  again  in  the  receiver. 
"Mr.  Gatewood?" 
"  Yes,  I  am  here,  Mr.  Keen." 
"  Do  you  really  think  it  best  for  Mr.  Kerns  to 
fall  in  love?" 

"I  do,  certainly!"  replied  Gatewood  with 
emphasis. 

"  Because,"  continued  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Per 
sons,  "  I  see  little  chance  for  him  to  do  otherwise 
if  I  take  up  this  case.  Fate  itself,  in  the  shape  of 
a  young  lady,  is  already  on  the  way  here  in  a 
railroad  train." 

"  Good !  Good ! "  exclaimed  Gatewood.  "  Don't 
let  him  escape,  Mr.  Keen !  I  beg  of  you  to  take 
up  his  case !  I  urge  you  most  seriously  to  do  so. 
Mr.  Kerns  is  now  exactly  what  I  was  a  year  ago — 
an  utterly  useless  member  of  the  community — a 
typical  bachelor  who  lives  at  his  clubs,  shirking 
the  duties  of  a  decent  citizen." 

"  Exactly,"  said  the  Tracer.  "  Do  you  insist 
that  I  take  this  case?  That  I  attempt  to  trace 
and  find  for  Mr.  Kerns  a  sort  of  happiness  he 
himself  has  never  found?  " 

"  I  implore  you  to  do  so,  Mr.  Keen." 
"  Exactly.     If  I  do— if  I  carry  it  out  as  it  has 
been   arranged — or  rather  as  the  case  seems  to 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

have  already  arranged  itself,  for  it  is  rather  a 
simple  matter,  I  fancy — I  do  not  exactly  see  how 
Mr.  Kerns  can  avoid  experiencing  a — ahem — a 
tender  sentiment  for  the  very  charming  young 
lady  whom  I — and  chance — have  designed  for  him 
as  a  partner  through  life." 

"  Excellent !  Splendid !  "  shouted  Gatewood 
through  the  telephone.  "  Can  I  do  anything  to 
aid  you  in  this  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Tracer,  laughing.  "  If  you 
can  keep  him  amused  for  an  hour  or  two  before  he 
goes  after  his  suit  case  it  might  make  it  easier  for 
me.  This  young  lady  is  due  to  arrive  in  New  York 
at  eight  o'clock — a  client  of  mine — coming  to  con 
sult  me.  Her  presence  plays  an  important  part  in 
Mr.  Kerns's  future.  I  wish  you  to  detain  Mr. 
Kerns  until  she  is  ready  to  receive  him.  But  of 
this  he  must  know  nothing.  Good-by,  Mr.  Gate- 
wood,  and  would  you  be  kind  enough  to  present 
my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Gatewood?  " 

"  Indeed  I  will !  We  never  can  forget  what  you 
have  done  for  us.  Good-by." 

"  Good-by,  Mr.  Gatewood.  Try  to  keep  Mr. 
Kerns  amused  for  two  or  three  hours.  Of  course, 
if  you  can't  do  this,  there  are  other  methods  I  may 
employ — a  dozen  other  plans  already  partly  out 
lined  in  my  mind;  but  the  present  plan,  which 
145 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

accident  and  coincidence  make  so  easy,  is  likely 
to  work  itself  out  to  your  entire  satisfaction 
within  a  few  hours.  We  are  already  weaving  a 
web  around  Mr.  Kerns ;  we  already  have  taken 
exclusive  charge  of  his  future  movements  after 
he  leaves  the  Lenox  Club.  I  do  not  believe  he 
can  escape  us,  or  his  charming  destiny.  Good 
night !  " 

Gatewood,  enchanted,  hung  up  the  receiver. 
Song  broke  softly  from  his  lips  as  he  started  in 
search  of  Kerns ;  his  step  was  springy,  buoyant — 
a  sort  of  subdued  and  modest  prance. 

"  Now,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  Tommy  must  take 
out  his  papers.  The  time  is  ended  when  he  can 
issue  letters  of  marque  to  himself,  hoist  sail, 
square  away,  and  go  cruising  all  over  this  metrop 
olis  at  his  own  sweet  will." 


146 


CHAPTER    XIV 

IN  the  meanwhile,  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire, 
Mr.  Keen,  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons,  was  pre 
paring  to  trace  for  Mr.  Kerns,  against  that  gen 
tleman's  will,  the  true  happiness  which  Mr.  Kerns 
had  never  been  able  to  find  for  himself. 

He  sat  in  his  easy  chair  within  the  four  walls 
of  his  own  office,  inspecting  a  line  of  people  who 
stood  before  him  on  the  carpet  forming  a  single 
and  attentive  rank.  In  this  rank  were  five  men: 
a  policeman,  a  cab  driver,  an  agent  of  the  tele 
phone  company,  an  agent  of  the  electric  company, 
and  a  reformed  burglar  carrying  a  kit  of  his 
trade  tools. 

The  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  gazed  at  them, 
meditatively  joining  the  tips  of  his  thin  fingers. 

"  I  want  the  number  on  36  East  Eighty-third 
Street  changed  to  No.  38,  and  the  number  38  re 
placed  by  No.  36,"  he  said  to  the  policeman.  "  I 
want  it  done  at  once.  Get  a  glazier  and  go  up 
there  and  have  it  finished  in  an  hour.  Mrs.  Kenna, 
caretaker  at  No.  36,  is  in  my  pay ;  she  will  not  in 
terfere.  There  is  nobody  in  No.  38:  Mr.  Kerns 
147 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

leaves  there  to-night  and  the  Burglar  Alarm  Com 
pany  takes  charge  to-morrow." 

And,  turning  to  the  others:  "You,"  nodding 
at  the  reformed  burglar,  "  know  your  duty. 
Mike !  "  to  the  cab  driver,  "  don't  miss  Mr.  Kerns 
at  the  Lenox  Club.  If  he  calls  you  before  eleven, 
drive  into  the  park  and  have  an  accident.  And 
you,"  to  the  agent  of  the  telephone  company, 
"  will  sever  all  telephone  connection  in  Mrs.  Stan 
ley's  house ;  and  you,"  to  the  official  of  the  electric 
company,  "  will  see  that  the  circuit  in  Mrs.  Stan 
ley's  house  is  cut  so  that  no  electric  light  may  be 
lighted  and  no  electric  bell  sound." 

The  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  stroked  his  gray 
mustache  thoughtfully.  "And  that,"  he  ended, 
"  will  do,  I  think.  Good  night." 

He  rose  and  stood  by  the  door  as  the  policeman 
headed  the  solemn  file  which  marched  out  to  their 
duty ;  then  he  looked  at  his  watch,  and,  as  it  was 
already  a  few  minutes  after  eight,  he  called  up 
No.  36  East  Eighty-third  Street,  and  in  a  moment 
more  had  Mrs.  Stanley  on  the  wire. 

"  Good  evening,"  he  said  pleasantly.  "  I  sup 
pose  you  have  just  arrived  from  Rosylyn.  I  may 
be  a  little  late — I  may  be  very  late,  in  fact,  so  I 
called  you  up  to  say  so.  And  I  wished  to  say 
another  thing;  to  ask  you  whether  your  servants 
148 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

could  recollect  ever  having  seen  a  young  man 
about  the  place,  a  rather  attractive  young  man 
with  excellent  address  and  manners,  five  feet  eleven 
inches,  slim  but  well  built,  dark  hair,  dark  eyes, 
and  dark  mustache,  offering  samples  of  Georgia 
marble  for  sale." 

"  Really,  Mr,  Keen,"  replied  a  silvery  voice,  "  I 
have  heard  them  say  nothing  about  such  an  in 
dividual.  If  you  will  hold  the  wire  I  will  ask  my 
maid."  And,  after  a  pause :  "  No,  Mr.  Keen,  my 
maid  cannot  remember  any  such  person.  Do  you 
think  he  was  a  confederate  of  that  wretched  butler 
of  mine  ?  " 

"  I  am  scarcely  prepared  to  say  that ;  in  fact," 
added  Mr.  Keen,  "  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  that 
this  young  man  could  have  been  concerned  in  any 
thing  of  that  sort.  Only,  if  you  should  ever  by 
any  chance  see  such  a  man,  detain  him  if  possible 
until  you  can  communicate  with  me;  detain  him 
by  any  pretext,  by  ruse,  by  force  if  you  can,  only 
detain  him  until  I  can  get  there.  Will  you  do 
this?" 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Keen,  if  I  can.  Please  describe 
him  again  ?  " 

Mr.  Keen  did  so  minutely. 

"  You  say  he  sells  Georgia  marble  by  samples, 
which  he  carries  in  a  suit  case  ?  " 
149 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  He  says  that  he  has  samples  of  Georgia  mar 
ble  in  his  suit  case,"  replied  the  Tracer  cautiously. 
"  It  might  be  well,  if  possible,  to  see  what  he  has 
in  his  suit  case." 

"  I  will  warn  the  servants  as  soon  as  I  return  to 
Rosylyn.  When  may  I  expect  you  this  evening, 
Mr.  Keen?" 

"  It  is  impossible  to  say,  Mrs.  Stanley.  If  I 
am  not  there  by  midnight  I  shall  try  to  call  next 
morning." 

So  they  exchanged  civil  adieus ;  the  Tracer 
hung  up  his  receiver  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair, 
smiling  to  himself. 

"  Curious,"  he  said,  "  that  chance  should  have 
sent  that  pretty  woman  to  me  at  such  a  time.  .  .  . 
Kerns  is  a  fine  fellow,  every  inch  of  him.  It  hit 
him  hard  when  he  crossed  with  her  to  Southamp 
ton  six  years  ago ;  it  hit  him  harder  when  she 
married  that  Englishman.  I  don't  wonder  he 
never  cared  to  marry  after  that  brief  week  of  her 
society ;  for  she  is  just  about  the  most  charming 
woman  I  have  ever  met — red  hair  and  all.  .  .  . 
And  if  quick  action  is  what  is  required,  it's  well  to 
break  the  ice  between  them  at  once  with  a  dreadful 
misunderstanding." 


150 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE  dinner  that  Kerns  had  planned  for  himself 
and  Gatewood  was  an  ingenious  one,  cunningly 
contrived  to  discontent  Gatewood  with  home  fare 
and  lure  him  by  its  seductive  quality  into  frequent 
revisits  to  the  club  which  was  responsible  for  such 
delectable  wines  and  viands. 

A  genial  glow  already  enveloped  Gatewood  and 
pleasantly  suffused  Kerns.  From  time  to  time 
they  held  some  rare  vintage  aloft,  squinting 
through  the  crystal-imprisoned  crimson  with  deep 
content. 

"  Not  that  my  word  is  necessarily  the  last  word 
concerning  Burgundy,"  said  Gatewood  modestly ; 
"  but  I  venture  to  doubt  that  any  club  in  America 
can  match  this  bottle,  Kerns." 

"  Now,  Jack,"  wheedled  Kerns,  "  isn't  it  pleas 
ant  to  dine  here  once  in  a  while  ?  Be  frank,  man ! 
Look  about  at  the  other  tables — at  all  the  pleas 
ant,  familiar  faces — the  same  fine  fellows,  bless 
'em — the  same  smoky  old  ceiling,  the  same  bum 
portraits  of  dead  governors,  the  same  old  stag 
11  151 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

heads  on  the  wall.  Now,  Jack,  isn't  it  mighty 
pleasant,  after  all?  Be  a  gentleman  and  ad 
mit  it ! " 

"Y-yes,"  confessed  Gatewood,  "it's  all  right 
for  me  once  in  a  while,  because  I  know  that  I  am 
presently  going  back  to  my  own  home — a  jolly 
lamplit  room  and  the  prettiest  girl  in  Manhattan 
curled  up  in  an  armchair " 

"  You're  fortunate,"  said  Kerns  shortly.  And 
for  the  first  time  there  remained  no  lurking  mock 
ery  in  his  voice;  for  the  first  time  his  retort  was 
tinged  with  bitterness.  But  the  next  instant  his 
eyes  glimmered  with  the  same  gay  malice,  and  the 
unbelieving  smile  twitched  at  his  clean-cut  lips, 
and  he  raised  his  hand,  touching  the  short  ends  of 
his  mustache  with  that  careless,  amused  cynicism 
which  rather  became  him. 

"  All  that  you  picture  so  entrancingly  is  for 
bidden  the  true  believer,"  he  said;  and  began  to 
repeat : 

"  '  O  weaver  !  weave  the  flowers  of  Feraghan 
Into  the  fabric  that  thy  birth  began ; 
Iris,  narcissus,  tulips  cloud-band  tied, 
These  thou  shalt  picture  for  the  eye  of  Man ; 
Henna,  Herati,  and  the  Jhelums  tide 
In  Sarraband  and  Saruk  be  thy  guide, 
And  the  red  dye  of  Ispahan  beside 
152 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

The  checkered  Chinese  fret  of  ancient  gold  ; 
— So  heed  the  ban,  old  as  the  law  is  old, 
Nor  weave  into  thy  warp  the  laughing  face, 
Nor  limb,  nor  body,  nor  one  line  of  grace, 
Nor  hint,  nor  tint,  nor  any  veiled  device 
Of  Woman  who  is  barred  from  Paradise  ! ' ' 

"  A  nice  sentiment !  "  said  Gatewood  hotly. 

"  Can't  help  it ;  you  see  I'm  forbidden  to  mon 
key  with  the  eternal  looms  or  weave  the  forbidden 
into  the  pattern  of  my  life." 

Gatewood  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  then  looked 
up  at  Kerns  with  something  so  closely  akin  to  a 
grin  that  his  friend  became  interested  in  its 
scarcely  veiled  significance,  and  grinned  in  reply. 

"  So  you  really  expect  that  your  friend,  Mr. 
Keen,  is  going  to  marry  me  to  somebody,  nolens 
volens?  "  asked  Kerns. 

"  I  do.     That's  what  I  dream  of,  Tommy." 

"  My  poor  friend,  dream  on !  " 

"  I  am.  Tommy,  you're  lost !  I  mean  you're 
as  good  as  married  now !  " 

"You  think  so?" 

"I  know  it!  There  you  sit,  savoring  your 
Burgundy,  idling  over  a  cigar,  happy,  care  free, 
fancy  free,  at  liberty,  as  you  believe,  to  roam  off 
anywhere  at  any  time  and  continue  the  eternal 
hunt  for  pleasure !  That's  what  you  think !  Ha ! 
153 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

Tommy,  I  know  better!  That's  not  the  sort  of 
man  7  see  sitting  on  the  same  chair  where  you  are 
now  sprawling  in  such  content!  I  see  a  doomed 
man,  already  in  the  shadow  of  the  altar,  wasting 
his  time  unsuspiciously  while  Chance  comes  whirl 
ing  into  the  city  behind  a  Long  Island  locomotive, 
and  Fate,  the  footman,  sits  outside  ready  to  fol 
low  him,  and  Destiny  awaits  him  no  matter  what 
he  does,  what  he  desires,  where  he  goes,  wherever 
he  turns  to-night!  Destiny  awaits  him  at  his 
journey's  end! " 

"  Very  fine,"  said  Kerns  admiringly.  "  Too 
bad  it's  due  to  the  Burgundy." 

"  Never  mind  what  my  eloquence  is  due  to,"  re 
torted  Gatewood,  "  the  fact  remains  that  this  is 
probably  your  last  bachelor  dinner.  Kerns,  old 
fellow !  Here's  to  her !  Bless  her !  I — I  wish  sin 
cerely  that  we  knew  who  she  is  and  where  to  send 
those  roses.  Anyway,  here's  to  the  bride !  " 

He  stood  up  very  gravely  and  drank  the  toast, 
then,  reseating  himself,  tapped  the  empty  glass 
gently  against  the  table's  edge  until  it  broke. 

4  You  are  certainly  doing  your  part  well,"  said 
Kerns  admiringly.  Then  he  swallowed  the  re 
mainder  of  his  Burgundy  and  looked  up  at  the 
club  clock. 

"Eleven,"  he  said   with   regret.      "I've  about 
154 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

time  to  go  to  Eighty-third  Street,  get  my  suit 
case,  and  catch  my  train  at  125th  Street."  To  a 
servant  he  said,  "  Call  a  hansom,"  then  rose  and 
sauntered  downstairs  to  the  cloakroom,  where 
presently  both  men  stood,  hatted  and  'gloved, 
swinging  their  sticks. 

"  That  was  a  fool  bet  you  made,"  began  Kerns ; 
"  Fll  release  you,  Jack." 

"  Sorry,  but  I  must  insist  on  holding  you,"  re 
plied  Gatewood,  laughing.  "  You're  going  to 
your  doom.  Come  on !  I'll  see  you  as  far  as  the 
cab  door." 

They  walked  out,  and  Kerns  gave  the  cabby  the 
street  and  number  and  entered  the  hansom. 

"  Now,"  said  Gatewood,  "  you're  in  for  it ! 
You're  done  for!  You  can't  help  yourself!  I've 
won  my  twelve-gauge  trap  gun  already,  and  I'll 
have  to  set  you  up  in  table  silver,  anyway,  so 
it's  an  even  break.  You're  all  in,  Tommy!  The 
Tracer  is  on  your  trail !  " 

In  the  beginning  of  a  flippant  retort  Kerns  ex 
perienced  a  curious  sensation  of  hesitation.  Some 
thing  in  Gatewood's  earnestness,  in  his  jeering 
assurance  and  delighted  certainty,  made  him,  for 
one  moment,  feel  doubtful,  even  uncomfortable. 

"  What  nonsense  you  talk,"  he  said,  recovering 
his  equanimity.  "  Nothing  on  earth  can  prevent 
155 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

me  driving  to  38  East  Eighty-third  Street,  get 
ting  my  luggage,  arfti  taking  the  Boston  express. 
Your  Tracer  doesn't  intend  to  stop  my  hansom 
and  drag  me  into  a  cave,  does  he?  You  haven't 
put  knock-outs  into  that  Burgundy,  have  you? 
Then  what  in  the  dickens  are  you  laughing  at  ?  " 

But  Gatewood,  on  the  sidewalk  under  the  lamp 
light,  was  still  laughing  as  Kerns  drove  away,  for 
he  had  recognized  in  the  cab  driver  a  man  he  had 
seen  in  Mr.  Kern's  office,  and  he  knew  that  the 
Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  had  Kerns  already  well  in 
hand. 

The  hansom  drove  on  through  the  summer 
darkness  between  rows  of  electric  globes  drooping 
like  huge  white  moon  flowers  from  their  foliated 
bronze  stalks,  on  up  the  splendid  avenue,  past  the 
great  brilliantly  illuminated  hotels,  past  the  white 
cathedral,  past  clubs  and  churches  and  the  palaces 
of  the  wealthy ;  on,  on  along  the  park  wall  edged 
by  its  double  rows  of  elms  under  which  shadowy 
forms  moved — lovers  strolling  in  couples. 

"  Pooh,"  sniffed  Kerns,  "  the  whole  world  has 
gone  love  mad,  and  I'm  the  only  sane  man  left." 

But  he  leaned  back  in  his  cab  and  fell  a-thinking 

of  a  thin  girl  with  red  hair  and  great  gray  eyes 

— a   thin,    frail   creature,   scarcely   more  than   a 

child,  who  had  held  him  for  a  week  in  a  strange 

156 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

sorcery  only  to  release  him  with  a  frightened 
smile,  leaving  her  indelible  impression  upon  his 
life  forever. 

And,  thinking,  he  looked  up,  realizing  that  the 
cab  had  stopped  in  East  Eighty-third  Street 
before  one  of  a  line  of  brownstone  houses,  all  ex 
ternally  alike. 

Then  he  leaned  out  and  saw  that  the  house 
number  was  thirty-eight.  That  was  the  number 
of  the  Lees'  house ;  he  descended,  bade  the  cabman 
await  him,  and,  producing  his  latch  key,  started 
up  the  steps,  whistling  gayly. 

But  he  didn't  require  his  key,  for,  as  he  reached 
the  front  door,  he  found,  to  his  surprise  and  con 
cern,  that  it  swung  partly  open — just  a  mere 
crack. 

"  The  mischief !  "  he  muttered ;  "  could  I  have 
failed  to  close  it?  Could  anybody  have  seen  it  and 
crept  in  ?  " 

He  entered  the  hallway  hastily  and  pressed  the 
electric  knob.  No  light  appeared  in  the  sconces. 

"  What  the  deuce !  "  he  murmured ;  "  something 
wrong  with  the  switch ! "  And  he  hurriedly 
lighted  a  match  and  peered  into  the  darkness.  By 
the  vague  glimmer  of  the  burning  match  he  could 
distinguish  nothing.  He  listened  intently,  tried 
the  electric  switch  again  without  success.  The 
157 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

match  burned  his  fingers  and  he  dropped  it,  watch 
ing  the  last  red  spark  die  out  in  the  darkness. 

Something  about  the  shadowy  hallway  seemed 
unfamiliar;  he  went  to  the  door,  stepped  out  on 
the  stoop,  and  looked  up  at  the  number  on  the 
transom.  It  was  thirty-eight ;  no  doubt  about  the 
house.  Hesitating,  he  glanced  around  to  see  that 
his  hansom  was  still  there.  It  had  disappeared. 

"  What  an  idiot  that  cabman  is !  "  he  exclaimed, 
intensely  annoyed  at  the  prospect  of  lugging  his 
heavy  suit  case  to  a  Madison  Avenue  car  and 
traveling  with  it  to  Harlem. 

He  looked  up  and  down  the  dimly  lighted 
street;  east,  an  electric  car  glided  down  Madison 
Avenue;  west,  the  lights  of  Fifth  Avenue  glim 
mered  against  the  dark  foliage  of  the  Park.  He 
stood  a  moment,  angry  at  the  desertion  of  his  cab 
man,  then  turned  and  reentered  the  dark  hall, 
closing  the  door  behind  him. 

Up  the  staircase  he  felt  his  way  to  the  first 
landing,  and,  lighting  a  match,  looked  for  the 
electric  button. 

"  Am  I  crazy,  or  was  there  no  electric  button 
in  this  hall?  "  he  thought.  The  match  burned  low ; 
he  had  to  drop  it.  Perplexed,  he  struck  another 
match  and  opened  the  door  leading  into  the  front 
room,  and  stood  on  the  threshold  a  moment,  look- 
158 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

ing  about  him  at  the  linen-shrouded  furniture  and 
pictures.  This  front  room,  closed  for  the  summer, 
he  had  not  before  entered,  but  he  stepped  in  now, 
poking  about  for  any  possible  intruder,  lighting 
match  after  match. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  go  over  this  confounded 
house  inch  by  inch,"  he  murmured.  "  What  could 
have  possessed  me  to  leave  the  front  door  ajar 
this  morning?  " 

For  an  instant  he  thought  that  perhaps  Mrs. 
Nolan,  the  woman  who  came  in  the  morning  to 
make  his  bed,  might  have  left  the  door  open,  but 
he  knew  that  couldn't  be  so,  because  he  always 
waited  for  her  to  finish  her  work  and  leave  before 
he  went  out.  So  either  he  must  have  left  the  door 
open,  or  some  marauder  had  visited  the  house — 
was  perhaps  at  that  moment  in  the  house!  And 
it  was  his  duty  to  find  out. 

"  I'd  better  be  about  it,  too,"  he  thought  sav 
agely,  "  or  I'll  never  make  my  train." 

He  struck  his  last  match,  looked  around,  and, 
seeing  gas  jets  among  the  clustered  electric  bulbs 
of  the  sconces,  tried  to  light  one  and  succeeded. 

He  had  left  his  suit  case  in  the  passageway  be 
tween  the  front  and  rear   rooms,  and  now,  cau 
tiously,  stick  in  hand,  he  turned  toward  the  dim 
corridor  leading  to  the  bedroom.     There  was  his 
159 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST  PERSONS 

suit  case,  anyway !  He  picked  it  up  and  started 
to  push  open  the  door  of  the  rear  room ;  but  at  the 
same  time,  and  before  he  could  lay  his  hand  on  the 
knob,  the  door  before  him  opened  suddenly  in  a 
flood  of  light/and  a  woman  stood  there,  dark 
against  the  gas-lit  glare,  a  pistol  waveringly  ex 
tended  in  the  general  direction  of  his  head. 


160 


CHAPTER   XVI 

«GooD  heavens!"  he  said,  appalled,  and 
dropped  his  suit  case  with  a  crash. 

«W-what  are  you  d-doing '  She  con 
trolled  her  voice  and  the  wavering  weapon  with  an 
effort.  "  What  are  you  doing  in  this  house?  " 

"  Doing?  In  this  house?  "  he  repeated,  his  eyes 
protruding  in  the  direction  of  the  unsteady  pistol 
muzzle.  "  What  are  you  doing  in  this  house-— if 
you  don't  mind  saying !  " 

«  i_l  m-must  ask  you  to  put  up  your  hands," 
she  said.  "  If  you  move  I  shall  certainly  s-shoot 
off  this  pistol." 

« It  will  go  off,  anyway,  if  you  handle  it  like 
that !  "  he  said,  exasperated.  "  What  do  you  mean 
by  pointing  it  at  me  ?  " 

«  I  mean  to  fire  it  off  in  a  few  moments  if  you 
don't  raise  your  hands  above  your  head ! ' 

He  looked  at  the  pistol;  it  was  new  and  shiny; 
he  looked  at  the  athletic  young  figure  silhouetted 
against  the  brilliant  light. 

"  Well,  if  you  make  a  point  of  it,  of  course." 
161 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

He  slowly  held  up  both  hands,  higher,  then 
higher  still.  "Upon  my  word!"  he  breathed. 
"  Held  up  by  a  woman !  "  And  he  said  aloud,  bit 
terly:  "No  doubt  you  have  assistance  close  at 
hand." 

"  No  doubt,"  she  said  coolly.    "  What  have  you 
been  packing  into  that  valise?  " 

"P-packing   into    what?      Oh,    into    that    suit 
case?     That  is  my  suit  case." 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  she  said  quietly,  "  but  what 
have  you  inside  it?  " 

"  Nothing  you  or  your  friends  would  care  for," 
he  said  meaningly. 

"  I  must  be  the  judge  of  that,"  she  retorted. 
"  Please  open  that  suit  case." 

"  How  can  I  if  my  hands  are  in  the  air?  "  he 
expostulated,  now  intensely  interested  in  the  nov 
elty  of  being  held  up  by  this  graceful  and 
vaguely  pretty  silhouette. 

'  You  may  lower  your  arms  to  unpack  the  suit 
case,"  she  said. 

"  I — I  had  rather  not  if  you  are  going  to  keep 
me  covered  with  your  pistol." 

"  Of  course  I  shall  keep  you  covered.     Unpack 
your  booty  at  once !  " 
«  My— what ?  " 
"  Booty." 

162 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"Madam,  do  you  take  me  for  a  thief?  Have 
you,  by  chance,  entered  the  wrong  house?  I — I 
cannot  reconcile  your  voice  with  what  I  am  forced 
to  consider  you — a  housebreaker " 

"  We  will  discuss  that  later.  Unpack  that 
bag !  "  she  insisted. 

«  But — but  there  is  nothing  in  it  except  sam 
ples  of  marble " 

"  What !  "  she  exclaimed  nervously.  "  What 
did  you  say  ?  Samples  of  marble  ?  " 

"  Marble,  madam !    Georgia  marble !  " 

"  Oh !  So  you  are  the  young  man  who  goes 
about  pretending  to  peddle  Georgia  marble  from 
samples!  Are  you?  The  famous  marble  man  I 
have  heard  of." 

"  I?    Madam,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean !  " 

"  Come !  she  said  scornfully ;  "  let  me  see  the 
contents  of  that  suit  case.  I — I  am  not  afraid  of 
you;  I  am  not  a  bit  afraid  of  you.  And  I  shall 
catch  your  accomplice,  too." 

"  Madam,  you  speak  like  an  honest  woman ! 
You  must  have  managed  to  enter  the  wrong 
house.  This  is  number  thirty-eight,  where  I  live." 

"  It  is  number  thirty-six ;  my  house !  " 

"  But  I  know  it  is  number  thirty-eight ;  Mr. 
Lee's  house,"  he  protested  hopefully.  "  This  is 
some  dreadful  mistake." 

163 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Mr.  Lee's  house  is  next  door,"  she  said.  "  Do 
you  not  suppose  I  know  my  own  house?  Besides, 
I  have  been  warned  against  a  plausible  young 
man  who  pretends  he  has  Georgia  marble  to 
sell " 

'  There  is  a  dreadful  mistake  somewhere,"  he  in 
sisted.  "  Please  p-p-put  up  your  p-pistol  and  aid 
me  to  solve  it.  I  am  no  robber,  madam.  I  thought 
at  first  that  you  were.  I'm  living  in  Mr.  Lee's 
house,  No.  38  East  Eighty-third  Street,  and  I've 
looked  carefully  at  the  number  over  the  door  of 
this  house  and  the  number  is  thirty-eight,  and  the 
street  is  East  Eighty-third.  So  I  naturally  con 
clude  that  I  am  in  Mr.  Lee's  house." 

'6  Your  arguments  and  your  conclusions  are 
very  plausible,"  she  said,  "but,  fortunately  for 
me,  I  have  been  expressly  warned  against  a  young 
man  of  your  description.  You  are  the  marble 
man !  " 

"  It's  a  mistake !    A  very  dreadful  one." 
'  Then  how  did  you  enter  this  house?  " 
"  I  have  a  key — I  mean  I  found  the  front  door 
unlatched.      Please    don't    misunderstand    me;    I 
know  it  sounds  unconvincing,  but  I  really  have  a 
key  to  number  thirty-eight." 

He  attempted  to  reach  for  his  pocket  and  the 
pistol  glittered  in  his  face. 
164 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Won't  you  let  me  prove  my  innocence?  "  he 
asked. 

"  You  can't  prove  it  by  showing  me  a  key.  Be 
sides,  it's  probably  a  weapon.  Anyhow,  if,  as  you 
pretend,  you  have  managed  to  get  into  the  wrong 
house,  why  did  you  bring  that  suit  case  up  here  ?  '' 
"  It  was  here.  It's  mine.  I  left  it  here  in  this 
passageway." 

"  In  my  house  ?  "  she  asked  incredulously. 
"In  number  thirty-eight;  that  is  all  I  know. 
I'll  open  the  suit  case  if  you  will  let  me.     I  have 
already  described  its  contents.     If  it  has  samples 
of  marble  in  it  you  must  be  convinced !  " 

"  It  will  convince  me  that  it  is  your  valise.  But 
what  of  that?  I  know  it  is  yours  already,"  she 
said  defiantly.  "  I  know,  at  least,  that  you  are  the 
marble  man — if  nothing  worse !  " 

"  But  malefactors  don't  go  about  carrying 
samples  of  Georgia  marble,"  he  protested,  drop 
ping  on  one  knee  under  the  muzzle  of  her  revolver 
and  tugging  at  the  straps  and  buckles.  In  a  sec 
ond  or  two  he  threw  open  the  case — and  the  sight 
of  the  contents  staggered  him.  For  there,  thrown 
in  pellmell  among  small  square  blocks  of  polished 
marble  was  a  complete  kit  of  burglar's  tools,  in 
cluding  also  a  mask,  a  dark  lantern,  and  a  black 
jack. 

165 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  What-w-w-what  on  earth  is  this?"  he  stam 
mered.  "  These  things  don't  belong  to  me.  I 
won't  have  them !  I  don't  want  them.  Who  put 
them  into  my  suit  case?  How  the  deuce " 

"You  are  the  marble  man!"  she  said  with 
a  shudder.  "  Your  crimes  are  known !  Your 
wretched  accomplice  will  be  caught !  You  are  the 
marble  man — or  something  worse !  " 

Kneeling  there,  aghast,  bewildered,  he  passed 
his  hand  across  his  eyes  as  though  to  clear  them 
from  some  terrible  vision.  But  the  suit  case  was 
still  there  with  its  incriminating  contents  when  he 
looked  again. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  she  said  tremulously. 
"  I — if  it  were  not  for  the  marble — I  would  let 
you  go.  But  you  are  the  marble  man !  " 

;<  Yes,  and  I'm  probably  a  madman,  too.  I 
don't  know  what  I  am !  I  don't  know  what  is  hap 
pening  to  me.  I  ought  to  be  going,  that  is  all  I 
know " 

"  I  cannot  let  you  go." 

"  But  I  must !     I've  got  to  catch  a  train." 

The  feebleness  of  his  excuse  chilled  her  pity. 

"  I  shall  not  let  you  go,"  she  said,  resting  the 

hand  which  held  the  pistol  on  her  hip,  but  keeping 

him  covered.     "  I  know  you  came  to  rob  my  house ; 

I  know  you  are  a  thoroughly  bad  and  depraved 

166 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

young  man,  but  for  all  that  I  could  find  it  in  my 
heart  to  let  you  go  if  you  were  not  also  the  marble 

man! " 

"  What  on  earth  is  the  marble  man?  "  he  asked, 

exasperated. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  have  been  earnestly  warned 
against  him.  Probably  he  is  a  relative  of  my 

butler " 

"  I'm  not  a  relative  of  anybody's  butler !  " 
"  You  say  you  are  not.     How  do  I  know?    I- 
I  will  make  you  an  offer.     I  will  give  you  one  last 
chance.     If  you  will  return  to  me  the  jewels  that 

my  butler  took " 

"Good  heavens,  madam!  Do  you  really  take 
me  for  a  professional  burglar?  " 

"How  can  I  help  it?"  she  said  indignantly. 
"Look  at  your  suit  case  full  of  lanterns  and 
masks — full  of  marble,  too !  " 

Speechless,  he  stared  at  the  burglar's  kit. 

"I    am    sorry "      Her    voice    had    altered 

again  to  a  tremulous  sweetness.  "  I  can't  help 
feeling  sorry  for  you.  You  do  not  seem  to  be 
hardened;  your  voice  and  manner  are  not  charac 
teristically  criminal.  I— I  can't  see  your  face 
very  clearly,  but  it  does  not  seem  to  be  a  brutally 

inhuman  face " 

An  awful  desire  to  laugh  seized  Kerns  ;  he  strug- 
12  167 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

gled  against  it ;  hysteria  lay  that  way ;  and  he  cov 
ered  his  face  with  both  hands  and  pinched  himself. 

She  probably  mistook  the  action  for  the  emo 
tion  of  shame  and  despair  born  of  bitter  grief; 
perhaps  of  terror  of  the  law.  It  frightened  her 
a  little,  but  pity  dominated.  She  could  scarcely 
endure  to  do  what  she  must  do. 

"This  is  dreadful,  dreadful!"  she  faltered. 
"  If  you  only  would  give  me  back  my  jewels 

Sounds,  hastily  smothered,  escaped  him.  She 
believed  them  to  be  groans,  and  it  made  her 
slightly  faint. 

"  I — I've  simply  got  to  telephone  for  the  po 
lice,"  she  said  pityingly.  "  I  must  ask  you  to  sit 
down  there  and  wait — there  is  a  chair.  Sit  there 
— and  please  don't  move,  for  I — this  has  unnerved 
me — I  am  not  accustomed  to  doing  cruel  things; 
and  if  vou  should  move  too  quickly  or  attempt  to 
run  away  I  feel  certain  that  this  pistol  would 
explode." 

"  Are  you  going  to  telephone?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  am." 

She  backed  away,  cautiously,  pistol  menacing 
him,  reached  for  the  receiver,  and  waited  for  Cen 
tral.  She  waited  a  long  time  before  she  realized 
that  the  telephone  as  well  as  the  electric  light  was 
out  of  commission. 

168 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Did  you  cut  all  these  wires  ?  "  she  demanded 
angrily. 

"I?    What  wires?" 

She  reached  out  and  pressed  the  electric  button 
which  should  have  rung  a  bell  in  her  maid's  bed 
room  on  the  top  floor.  She  kept  her  finger  on  the 
button  for  ten  minutes.  It  was  useless. 

"  You  laid  deliberate  plans  to  rob  this  house," 
she  said,  her  cheeks  pink  with  indignation.  "  I  am 
not  a  bit  sorry  for  you.  I  shall  not  let  you  go !  I 
shall  sit  here  until  somebody  comes  to  my  assist 
ance,  if  I  have  to  sit  here  for  weeks  and  weeks !  " 

"  If  you'd  let  me  telephone  to  my  club "  he 

began. 

"  Your  club !  You  are  very  plausible.  You 
didn't  offer  to  call  up  any  club  until  you  found 
that  the  telephone  was  not  working !  " 

He  thought  a  moment.  "  I  don't  suppose  you 
would  trust  me  to  go  out  and  get  a  policeman?  " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  Or  go  into  the  front  room  and  open  a  window 
and  summon  some  passer-by  ?  " 

"  How  do  I  know  you  haven't  confederates 
waiting  outside?  " 

"  That's  true,"  he  said  seriously. 

There  was  a  silence.  Her  nerves  seemed  to 
trouble  her,  for  she  began  to  pace  to  and  fro  in 
169 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

front  of  the  passageway  where  he  sat  comfortably 
on  his  chair,  arms  folded,  one  knee  dropped  over 
the  other. 

The  light  being  behind  her  he  could  not  as  yet 
distinguish  her  features  very  clearly.  Her  figure 
was  youthful,  slender,  yet  beautifully  rounded; 
her  head  charming  in  contour.  He  watched  her 
restlessly  walking  on  the  floor,  small  hand  clutch 
ing  the  pistol  resting  on  her  hip. 

The  ruddy  burnished  glimmer  on  the  edges  of 
her  hair  he  supposed,  at  first,  was  caused  by  the 
strong  light  behind  her. 

"  This  is  atrocious !  "  she  murmured,  halting  to 
confront  him.  "  How  dared  you  sever  every 
electric  connection  in  my  house  ?  " 

As  she  spoke  she  stepped  backward  a  pace  or 
two,  resting  herself  for  a  moment  against  the 
footboard  of  the  bed — full  in  the  gaslight.  And 
he  saw  her  face. 

For  a  moment  he  studied  her ;  an  immense  wave 
of  incredulity  swept  over  him — of  wild  unbelief, 
slowly  changing  to  the  astonishment  of  dawning 
conviction.  Astounded,  silent,  he  stared  at  her 
from  his  shadowy  corner;  and  after  a  while  his 
pulses  began  to  throb  and  throb  and  hammer,  and 
the  clamoring  confusion  of  his  senses  seemed  to 
deafen  him. 

170 


^ 


" '  This  is  atrocious  !  '   she  murmured,  halting  to 
confront  him." 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

She  rested  a  moment  or  two  against  the  foot 
board  of  the  bed,  her  big  gray  eyes  fixed  on  his 
vague  and  shadowy  form. 

"  This  won't  do,"  she  said. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  it  won't  do." 

He  spoke  very  quietJy,  very  gently.  She  de 
tected  the  alteration  in  his  voice  and  started 
slightly,  as  though  the  distant  echo  of  a  familiar 
voice  had  sounded. 

"  What  did  you  say  ? "  she  asked,  coming 
nearer,  pistol  glittering  in  advance. 

"  I  said  '  It  won't  do.'  I  don't  know  what  I 
meant  by  it.  If  I  meant  anything  I  was  wrong. 
It  will  do.  The  situation  is  perfectly  agreeable 
to  me." 

"  Insolence  will  not  help  you,"  she  said  sharply. 
And  under  the  sharpness  he  detected  the  slight 
est  quaver  of  a  new  alarm. 

"  I  am  going  to  free  myself,"  he  said  coolly. 

"If  you  move  I  shall  certainly  shoot ! "  she 
retorted. 

"  I  am  going  to  move — but  only  my  lips.  I 
have  only  to  move  my  lips  to  free  myself." 

'"  I  should  scarcely  advise  you  to  trust  to  your 
eloquence.  I  have  been  duly  warned,  you  see." 

"  Who  warned  you  ?  "  he  asked  curiously.  And, 
as  she  disdained  to  reply :  "  Never  mind.  We  can 
171 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

clear  that  up  later.     Now  let  me  ask  you  some 
thing." 

'  You  are  scarcely  in  a  position  to  asl^  ques 
tions,"  she  said. 

"  May  I  not  speak  to  you  ?  " 
"  Is  it  necessary  ?  " 

He  thought  a  moment.  "  No,  not  necessary. 
Nothing  is  in  this  life,  you  know.  I  thought  dif 
ferently  once.  Once — when  I  was  younger — six 
years  younger — I  thought  happiness  was  neces 
sary.  I  found  that  a  man  might  live  without  it." 

She  stood  gazing  at  him  through  the  shadows, 
pistol  on  hip. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  mean  that  happiness  is  not  necessary  to  life. 
Life  goes  on  all  the  same.  My  life  has  continued 
for  six  years  without  that  happiness  which  some 
believe  to  be  essential." 

After  a  silence  she  said :  "  I  can  tell  by  the  way 
you  speak  that  you  are  well  born.  I — I  dread  to 
do  what  I  simply  must  do." 

He,  too,  sat  silent  a  long  time — long  enough 
for  an  utterly  perverse  and  whimsical  humor  to 
take  complete  possession  of  him. 

"  Won't  you  let  me  go — this  time?  "  he  pleaded. 

"  I  cannot." 

"  You  had  better  let  me  go  while  you  can,"  he 
172 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

said,  "  because,  perhaps,  you  may  find  it  difficult 
to  get  rid  of  me  later." 

'Affronted,  she  shrank  back  from  the  doorway 
and  stood  in  the  center  of  her  room,  angry,  dis 
dainful,  beautiful,  under  the  ruddy  glory  of  her 
lustrous  hair. 

His  perverse  mood  changed,  too ;  he  leaned  for 
ward,  studying  her  minutely — the  splendid  gray 
eyes,  the  delicate  mouth  and  nose,  the  full,  sweet 
lips,  the  witchery  of  wrist  and  hand,  and  the  flow 
ing,  rounded  outline  of  limb  and  body  under  the 
pretty  gown.  Could  this  be  she  ?  This  lovely, 
mature  woman,  wearing  scarcely  a  trace  of  the 
young  girl  he  had  never  forgotten — scarcely  a 
trace  save  in  the  beauty  of  her  eyes  and  hair — save 
in  the  full,  red  mouth,  sweet  and  sensitive  even  in 
its  sudden  sullenness? 

"  Once,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  sounded  to  him 
like  voices  heard  in  dreams — "  once,  years  and 
years  ago,  there  was  a  steamer,  and  a  man  and  a 
young  girl  on  board.  Do  you  mind  my  telling 
you  about  it?  " 

She  stood  leaning  against  the  footboard  of  the 
bed,  not  even  deigning  to  raise  her  eyes  in  reply. 
So  he  made  the  slightest  stir  in  his  chair ;  and  then 
she  looked  up  quickly  enough,  pistol  poised. 

"  The  steamer,"  said  Kerns  slowly,  "  was  com- 
173 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

ing  into  Southampton — six  years  ago.  On  deck 
these  two  people  stood — a  man  of  twenty-eight,  a 
girl  of  eighteen— six  years  ago.  The  name  of  the 
steamer  was  the  Carnatic.  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
that  ship?" 

She  was  looking  at  him  attentively.  He  waited 
for  her  reply ;  she  made  none ;  and  he  went  on. 

6  The  man  had  asked  the  girl  something — I 
don't  know  what — I  don't  know  why  her  gray  eyes 
filled  with  tears.  Perhaps  it  was  because  she  could 
not  do  what  the  man  asked  her  to  do.  It  may  have 
been  to  love  him ;  it  may  have  been  that  he  was  ask 
ing  her  to  marry  him  and  that  she  couldn't.  Per 
haps  that  is  why  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes — 
because  she  may  have  been  sorry  to  cause  him  the 
pain  of  refusal — sorry,  perhaps,  perhaps  a  little 
guilty.  Because  she  must  have  seen  that  he  was 
falling  in  love  with  her,  and  she — she  let  him — 
knowing  all  the  time  that  she  was  to  marry  an 
other  man.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  that  man 
before?" 

She  had  straightened  up,  quivering,  wide  eyed, 
lips  parted.  He  rose  and  walked  slowly  into  her 
room,  confronting  her  under  the  full  glare  of 
light. 

Her  pistol  fell  clattering  to  the  floor.     It  did 
not  explode  because  it  was  not  loaded. 
174 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Now,"  he  said  unsteadily,  "  will  you  give  me 
my  freedom?  I  have  waited  for  it — not  minutes 
— but  years — six  years.  I  ask  it  now — the  free 
dom  I  enjoyed  before  I  ever  saw  you.  Can  you 
give  it  back  to  me?  Can  you  restore  to  me  a  ca 
pacity  for  happiness?  Can  you  give  me  a  heart 
to  love  with — love  some  woman,  as  other  men 
love?  Is  it  very  much  I  ask  of  you — to  give  me 
a  chance  in  life — the  chance  I  had  before  I  ever 
saw  you?  " 

Her  big  gray  eyes  seemed  fascinated ;  he  looked 
deep  into  them,  smiling;  and  she  turned  white. 

"  Will  you  give  me  what  I  ask  ?  "  he  said,  still 
smiling. 

She  strove  to  speak ;  she  could  not,  but  her  eyes 
never  faltered.  Suddenly  the  color  flooded  her 
neck  and  cheeks  to  the  hair,  and  the  quick  tears 
glimmered. 

"  I — I  did  not  understand ;  I  was  too  young  to 
be  cruel,"  she  faltered.  "  How  could  I  know  what 
I  was  doing?  Or  what — what  you  did?  " 

"I?    To  you?" 

:<Y-yes.  Did  you  think  that  I  escaped  heart 
free?  Do  you  realize  what  my  punishment  was — 
to — to  marry — and  remember!  If  I  was  too 
young,  too  inexperienced  to  know  what  I  was 
doing,  I  was  not  too  young  to  suffer  for  it ! " 
175 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  You   mean '       He   strove   to   control   his 

voice,  but  the  sweet,  fearless  gray  eyes  met  his; 
the  old  flame  leaped  in  his  veins.  He  reached  out 
to  steady  himself  and  his  hand  touched  hers — that 
soft,  white  hand  that  had  held  him  all  these  years 
in  the  hollow  of  its  palm. 

"  Did  you  ever  love  me?  "  he  demanded. 

Her  eyes,  wet  with  tears,  met  his  straight  as 
the  starry  gaze  of  a  child. 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

His  hand  tightened  over  hers;  she  swayed  a 
moment,  quivering  from  head  to  foot ;  then  draw 
ing  a  quick,  sobbing  breath,  closed  her  eyes,  im 
prisoned  in  his  arms;  and,  after  a  long  while, 
aroused,  she  looked  up  at  him,  her  divine  eyes 
unclosing  dreamily. 

"  Somebody  is  hammering  at  the  front  door," 
he  breathed.  "  Listen  !  " 

"  I  hear.  I  believe  it  must  be  the  Tracer  of 
Lost  Persons." 

"What?" 

"  Only  a  Mr.  Keen." 

"  O  Lord !  "  said  Kerns  faintly,  and  covered  his 
face  with  her  fragrant  hands. 

Very  tenderly,  very  gravely,  she  drew  her  hands 
away,  and,  laying  them  on  his  shoulders,  looked 
up  at  him. 

176 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  You — you  know  what  there  is  in  your  suit 
case,"  she  faltered ;  "  are  you  a  burglar,  dear  ?  " 

"  Ask  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons,"  said  Kerns 
gently,  "  what  sort  of  a  criminal  I  am !  " 

They  stood  together*  for  one  blissful  moment 
listening  to  the  loud  knocking  below,  then,  hand 
in  hand,  they  descended  the  dark  stairway  to 
admit  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons. 


177 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ON  the  thirteenth  day  of  March,  1906,  Kerns 
received  the  following  cable  from  an  old  friend: 

"  Is  there  anybody  in  New  York  who  can  find  two 
criminals  for  me  ?  I  don't  want  to  call  in  the  police. 

"J.  T.  BURKE." 

To  which  Kerns  replied  promptly: 

"Wire  Keen,  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons,  N.  Y." 

And  a  day  or  two  later,  being  on  his  honeymoon, 
he  forgot  all  about  his  old  friend  Jack  Burke. 

On  the  fifteenth  day  of  March,  1906,  Mr.  Keen, 
Tracer  of  Lost  Persons,  received  the  following 
cablegram  from  Alexandria,  Egypt: 

"  Keen,  Tracer,  New  York  : — Locate  Joram  Smiles, 
forty,  stout,  lame,  red  hair,  ragged  red  mustache,  cast 
in  left  eye,  pallid  skin ;  carries  one  crutch ;  supposed 
to  have  arrived  in  America  per  S.  S.  Scythian  Queen, 
with  man  known  as  Emanuel  Gandon,  swarthy,  short, 
fat,  light  bluish  eyes,  Eurasian  type. 

"  I  will  call  on  you  at  your  office  as  soon  as  my  steamer, 
Empress  of  Babylon,  arrives.  If  you  discover  my  men, 
178 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

keep  them  under  surveillance,  but  on  no  account  call  in 
police.  Spare  no  expense.  Dundas,  Gray  &  Co.  are 
my  bankers  and  reference. 

"  JOHN  TEMPLETON  BURKE." 

On  Monda}  April  2d,  a  few  minutes  after  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  card  of  Mr.  John 
Templeton  Burke  was  brought  to  Mr.  Keen, 
Tracer  of  Lost  Persons,  and  a  moment  later  a 
well-built,  wiry,  sun-scorched  young  man  was 
ushered  into  Mr.  Keen's  private  office  by  a  stenog 
rapher  prepared  to  take  minutes  of  the  interview. 

The  first  thing  that  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Per 
sons  noted  in  his  visitor  was  his  mouth;  the  next 
his  eyes.  Both  were  unmistakably  good — the  eyes 
which  his  Creator  had  given  him  looked  people 
squarely  in  the  face  at  every  word;  the  mouth, 
which  a  man's  own  character  fashions  agreeably 
or  mars,  was  pleasant,  but  firm  when  the  trace  of 
the  smile  lurking  in  the  corners  died  out. 

There  were  dozens  of  other  external  character 
istics  which  Mr.  Keen  always  looked  for  in  his 
clients;  and  now  the  rapid  exchange  of  prelim 
inary  glances  appeared  to  satisfy  both  men,  for 
they  advanced  toward  each  other  and  exchanged 
a  formal  hand  clasp. 

"Have  you  any  news  for  me?"  asked  Burke. 

"  I  have,"  said  the  Tracer.    "  There  are  cigars 
179 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

on  the  table  beside  you — matches  in  that  silver 
case.  No,  I  never  smoke ;  but  I  like  the  aroma — 
and  I  like  to  watch  men  smoke.  Do  you  know, 
Mr.  Burke,  that  no  two  men  smoke  in  the  same 
fashion?  There  is  as  much  character  in  the  man 
ner  of  holding  a  cigar  as  there  is  difference  in 
the  technic  of  artists." 

Burke  nodded,  amused,  but,  catching  sight  of 
the  busy  stenographer,  his  bronzed  features  be 
came  serious,  and  he  looked  at  Mr.  Keen  inquir 
ingly. 

"  It  is  my  custom,"  said  the  Tracer.  "  Do  you 
object  to  my  stenographer?  " 

Burke  looked  at  the  slim  young  girl  in  her 
black  gown  and  white  collar  and  cuffs.  Then, 
very  simply,  he  asked  her  pardon  for  objecting 
to  her  presence,  but  said  that  he  could  not  discuss 
his  case  if  she  remained.  So  she  rose,  with  a 
humorous  glance  at  Mr.  Keen;  and  the  two  men 
stood  up  until  she  had  vanished,  then  reseated 
themselves  vis-a-vis.  Mr.  Keen  calmly  dropped 
his  elbow  on  the  concealed  button  which  prepared 
a  hidden  phonograph  for  the  reception  of  every 
word  that  passed  between  them. 

"  What  news  have  you  for  me,  Mr.  Keen  ?  " 
asked  the  younger  man  with  that  same  directness 
which  the  Tracer  had  already  been  prepared  for, 
180 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

and  which  only  corroborated  the  frankness  of 
eyes  and  voice. 

"  My  news  is  brief,"  he  said.  "  I  have  both 
your  men  under  observation." 

'*  Already  ?  "  exclaimed  Burke,  plainly  unpre 
pared.  "  Do  you  actually  mean  that  I  can  see 
these  men  whenever  I  desire  to  do  so?  Are  these 
scoundrels  in  this  town — within  pistol  shot  ?  " 

His  youthful  face  hardened  as  he  snapped  out 
his  last  word,  like  the  crack  of  a  whip. 

"  I  don't  know  how  far  your  pistol  carries," 
said  Mr.  Keen.  "  Do  you  wish  to  swear  out  a 
warrant  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not.  I  merely  wish  their  addresses. 
You  have  not  used  the  police  in  this  matter,  have 
you,  Mr.  Keen?  " 

"  No.  Your  cable  was  explicit,"  said  the 
Tracer.  "  Had  you  permitted  me  to  use  the 
police  it  would  have  been  much  less  expensive 
for  you." 

"  I  can't  help  that,"  said  the  young  man. 
"  Besides,  in  a  matter  of  this  sort,  a  man  cannot 
decently  consider  expense." 

"A  matter  of  what  sort?"  asked  the  Tracer 
blandly. 

"  Of  t his  sort." 

"  Oh !  Yet  even  now  I  do  not  understand. 
181 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

You  must  remember,  Mr.  Burke,  that  you  have 
not  told  me  anything  concerning  the  reasons  for 
your  quest  of  these  two  men,  Joram  Smiles  and 
Emanuel  Gandon.  Besides,  this  is  the  first  time 
you  have  mentioned  pistol  range." 

Burke,  smoking  steadily,  looked  at  the  Tracer 
through  the  blue  fog  of  his  cigar. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  have  not  told  you  anything 
about  them." 

Mr.  Keen  waited  a  moment;  then,  smiling 
quietly  to  himself,  he  wrote  down  the  present  ad 
dresses  of  Joram  Smiles  and  Emanuel  Gandon, 
and,  tearing  off  the  leaf,  handed  it  to  the  younger 
man,  saying:  "I  omit  the  pistol  range,  Mr. 
Burke." 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you,"  said  Burke. 
"  The  efficiency  of  your  system  is  too  famous  for 
me  to  venture  to  praise  it.  All  I  can  say  is 
*  Thank  you  ' ;  all  I  can  do  in  gratitude  is  to  write 
my  check — if  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  suggest 
the  figures." 

"  Are  you  sure  that  my  services  are  ended?  " 

"  Thank  you,  quite  sure." 

So  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  named  the  fig 
ures,  and  his  client  produced  a  check  book  and 
filled  in  a  check  for  the  amount.  This  was  pre 
sented  and  received  with  pleasant  formality. 
182 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

Burke  rose,  prepared  to  take  his  leave,  but  the 
Tracer  was  apparently  busy  with  the  combination 
lock  of  a  safe,  and  the  young  man  lingered  a 
moment  to  make  his  adieus. 

As  he  stood  waiting  for  the  Tracer  to  turn 
around  he  studied  the  writing  on  the  sheet  of 
paper  which  he  held  toward  the  light: 

Joram  Smiles,  no  profession,  613  West  24th  Street. 
Emanuel  Gandon,  no  profession,  same  address. 
Very  dangerous  men. 

It  occurred  to  him  that  these  three  lines  of 
pencil-writing  had  cost  him  a  thousand  dollars — 
and  at  the  same  instant  he  flushed  with  shame  at 
the  idea  of  measuring  the  money  value  of  anything 
in  such  a  quest  as  this. 

And  yet — and  yet  he  had  already  spent  a  great 
deal  of  money  in  his  brief  quest,  and — was  he 
any  nearer  the  goal — even  with  the  penciled  ad 
dresses  of  these  two  men  in  his  possession?  Even 
with  these  men  almost  within  pistol  shot ! 

Pondering  there,  immersed  in  frowning  retro 
spection,  the  room,  the  Tracer,  the  city  seemed 
to  fade  from  his  view.  He  saw  the  red  sand  blow 
ing  in  the  desert;  he  heard  the  sickly  squealing 
of  camels  at  the  El  Teb  Wells;  he  saw  the  sun 
13  183 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

strike  fire  from  the  rippling  waters  of  Sai's;  he 
saw  the  plain,  and  the  ruins  high  above  it ;  and 
the  odor  of  the  Long  Bazaar  smote  him  like  a  blow, 
and  he  heard  the  far  call  to  prayer  from  the  min 
arets  of  Sa-el-Hagar,  once  Sa'is,  the  mysterious 
— Sai's  of  the  million  lanterns,  Sai's  of  that 
splendid  festival  where  the  Great  Triad's  wor 
ship  swayed  dynasty  after  dynasty,  and  where, 
through  the  hot  centuries,  Isis,  veiled,  impassive, 
looked  out  upon  the  hundredth  king  of  kings, 
Meris,  the  Builder  of  Gardens,  dragged  dead  at 
the  chariot  of  Upper  and  Lower  Egypt. 

Slowly  the  visions  faded;  into  his  remote  eyes 
crept  the  consciousness  of  the  twentieth  century 
again ;  he  heard  the  river  whistles  blowing,  and 
the  far  dissonance  of  the  streets — that  iron  un 
dertone  vibrating  through  the  metropolis  of  the 
West  from  river  to  river  and  from  the  Palisades 
to  the  sea. 

His  gaze  wandered  about  the  room,  from  tele 
phone  desk  to  bookcase,  from  the  table  to  the  huge 
steel  safe,  door  ajar,  swung  outward  like  the  pol 
ished  breech  of  a  twelve-inch  gun. 

Then  his  vacant  eyes  met  the  eyes  of  the  Tracer 

of  Lost  Persons,  almost  helplessly.     And  for  the 

first  time  the  full  significance  of  this  quest  he  had 

undertaken    came    over    him    like    despair  —  this 

184 


THE  TRACER  OF  LOST  PERSONS 

strange,  hopeless,  fantastic  quest,  blindly,  sav 
agely  pursued  from  the  sand  wastes  of  Sa'is  to 
the  wastes  of  this  vast  arid  city  of  iron  and  ma 
sonry,  ringing  to  the  sky  with  the  menacing 
clamor  of  its  five  monstrous  boroughs. 

Curiously  weary  of  a  sudden,  he  sat  down,  rest 
ing  his  head  on  one  hand.  The  Tracer  watched 
him,  bent  partly  over  his  desk.  From  moment  to 
moment  he  tore  minute  pieces  from  the  blotter, 
or  drew  imaginary  circles  and  arabesques  on  his 
pad  with  an  inkless  pen. 

"  Perhaps  I  could  help  you,  after  all — if  you'd 
let  me  try,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  Dou  you  mean — me?  "  asked  Burke,  without 
raising  his  head. 

"  If  you  like — yes,  you — or  any  man  in  trouble 
—  in  perplexity  —  in  the  uncertain  deductions 
which  arise  from  an  attempt  at  self -analysis." 

"  It  is  true ;  I  am  trying  to  analyze  myself.  I 
believe  that  I  don't  know  how.  All  has  been  mere 
impulse — so  far.  No,  I  don't  know  how  to  ana 
lyze  it  all." 

"  I  do,"  said  the  Tracer. 

Burke  raised  his  level,  unbelieving  eyes. 

"  You  are  in  love,"  said  the  Tracer. 

After  a  long  time  Burke  looked  up  again. 
"Do  you  think  so?" 

185 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"Yes.  Can  I  help  you?"  asked  the  Tracer 
pleasantly. 

The  young  man  sat  silent,  frowning  into  space ; 
then: 

"  I  tell  you  plainly  enough  that  I  have  come 
here  to  argue  with  two  men  at  the  end  of  a  pistol ; 
and — you  tell  me  I'm  in  love.  By  what  logic " 

"  It  is  written  in  your  face,  Mr.  Burke — in 
your  eyes,  in  every  feature,  every  muscle's  con 
traction,  every  modulation  of  your  voice.  My 
tables,  containing  six  hundred  classified  super 
ficial  phenomena  peculiar  to  all  human  emotions, 
have  been  compiled  and  scientifically  arranged 
according  to  Bertillon's  system.  It  is  an  abso 
lutely  accurate  key  to  every  phase  of  human  emo 
tion,  from  hate,  through  all  its  amazingly  para 
doxical  phenomena,  to  love,  with  all  its  genera 
under  the  suborder  —  all  its  species,  subspecies, 
and  varieties." 

He  leaned  back,  surveying  the  young  man  with 
kindly  amusement. 

"  You  talk  of  pistol  range,  but  you  are  thinking 
of  something  more  fatal  than  bullets,  Mr.  Burke. 
You  are  thinking  of  love — of  the  first,  great,  ab 
sorbing,  unreasoning  passion  that  has  ever  shaken 
you,  blinded  you,  seized  you  and  dragged  you  out 
of  the  ordered  path  of  life,  to  push  you  violently 
186 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

into  the  strange  and  unexplored!  That  is  what 
stares  out  on  the  world  through  those  haunted 
eyes  of  yours,  when  the  smile  dies  out  and  you  are 
off  your  guard;  that  is  what  is  hardening  those 
flat,  clean  bands  of  muscle  in  jaw  and  cheek;  that 
is  what  those  hints  of  shadow  mean  beneath  the 
eye,  that  new  and  delicate  pinch  to  the  nostril, 
that  refining,  almost  to  sharpness,  of  the  nose, 
that  sensitive  edging  to  the  lips,  and  the  lean 
delicacy  of  the  chin." 

He  bent  slightly  forward  in  his  chair. 

"  There  is  all  that  there,  Mr.  Burke,  and  some 
thing  else — the  glimmering  dawn  of  desperation." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  "  that  is  there.  I  am 
desperate." 

"  Exactly.  Also  you  wear  two  revolvers  in  a 
light,  leather  harness  strapped  up  under  your 
armpits,"  said  the  Tracer,  laughing.  "  Take 
them  off,  Mr.  Burke.  There  is  nothing  to  be 
gained  in  shooting  up  Mr.  Smiles  or  converting 
Mr.  Gandon  into  nitrates." 

"  If  it  is  a  matter  where  one  man  can  help 
another,"  the  Tracer  added  simply,  "  it  would 
give  me  pleasure  to  place  my  resources  at  your 
command — without  recompense " 

"  Mr.  Keen !  "  said  Burke,  astonished. 

"Yes?" 

187 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

;£  You  are  very  amiable ;  I  had  not  wished — had 
not  expected  anything  except  professional  interest 
from  you." 

"  Why  not?     I  like  you,  Mr.  Burke." 

The  utter  disarming  candor  of  this  quiet,  el 
derly  gentleman  silenced  the  younger  man  with  a 
suddenness  born  of  emotions  long  crushed,  long 
relentlessly  mastered,  and  which  now,  in  revolt, 
shook  him  fiercely  in  every  fiber.  All  at  once  he 
felt  very  young,  very  helpless  in  the  world — that 
same  world  through  which,  until  within  a  few 
weeks,  he  had  roved  so  confidently,  so  arrogantly, 
challenging  man  and  the  gods  themselves  in  the 
pride  of  his  strength  and  youth. 

But  now,  halting,  bewildered,  lost  amid  the 
strange  maze  of  byways  whither  impulse  had 
lured  and  abandoned  him,  he  looked  out  into  a 
world  of  wilderness  and  unfamiliar  stars  and 
shadow  shapes  undreamed  of,  and  he  knew  not 
which  way  to  turn — not  even  how  to  return  along 
the  ways  his  impetuous  feet  had  trodden  in  this 
strange  and  hopeless  quest  of  his. 

"  How  can  you  help  me?  "  he  said  bluntly,  while 
the  quivering  undertone  rang  in  spite  of  him. 
;<  Yes,  I  am  in  love ;  but  how  can  any  living  man 
help  me?  " 

"Are  you  in  love  with  the  dead?"  asked  the 
188 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

Tracer  gravely.  "  For  that  only  is  hopeless. 
Are  you  in  love  with  one  who  is  not  living?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  love  one  whom  you  know  to  be  dead  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  dead." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  she  is  dead  ?  " 

"  That  is  not  the  question.  I  knew  that  when 
I  fell  in  love  with  her.  It  is  not  that  which  appals 
me;  I  ask  nothing  more  than  to  live  my  life  out 
loving  the  dead.  I — I  ask  very  little." 

He  passed  his  unsteady  hand  across  his  dry  lips, 
across  his  eyes  and  forehead,  then  laid  his  clinched 
fist  on  the  table. 

"  Some  men  remain  constant  to  a  memory ;  some 
to  a  picture — sane,  wholesome,  normal  men.  Some 
men,  with  a  fixed  ideal,  never  encounter  its  fac 
simile,  and  so  never  love.  There  is  nothing 
strange,  after  all,  in  this;  nothing  abnormal, 
nothing  unwholesome.  Griinwald  loved  the  mar 
ble  head  and  shoulders  of  the  lovely  Amazon  in 
the  Munich  Museum;  he  died  unmarried,  leaving 
the  charities  and  good  deeds  of  a  blameless  life  to 
justify  him.  Sir  Henry  Guest,  the  great  sur 
geon  who  worked  among  the  poor  without  recom 
pense,  loved  Gainsborough's  '  Lady  Wilton.'  The 
portrait  hangs  above  his  tomb  in  St.  Clement's 
Hundreds.  D'Epernay  loved  Mile.  Jeanne  Vaca- 
189 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

resco,  who  died  before  he  was  born.  And  I — I 
love  in  my  own  fashion." 

His  low  voice  rang  with  the  repressed  undertone 
of  excitement;  he  opened  and  closed  his  clinched 
hand  as  though  controlling  the  lever  of  his  emo 
tions. 

"  What  can  you  do  for  a  man  who  loves  the 
shadow  of  Life  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  If  you  love  the  shadow  because  the  substance 
has  passed  away — if  you  love  the  soul  because  the 
dust  has  returned  to  the  earth  as  it  was " 

66  It  has  not !  "  said  the  younger  man. 

The  Tracer  said  very  gravely :  "  It  is  writ 
ten  that  whenever  *  the  Silver  Cord '  is  •  loosed, 
4  then  shall  the  dust  return  unto  the  earth  as  it 
was,  and  the  spirit  shall  return  unto  Him  who 
gave  it.'  " 

"  The  spirit — yes ;  that  has  taken  its  splendid 
flight " 

His  voice  choked  up,  died  out;  he  strove  to 
speak  again,  but  could  not.  The  Tracer  let  him 
alone,  and  bent  again  over  his  desk,  drawing  imag 
inary  circles  on  the  stained  blotter,  while  moment 
after  moment  passed  under  the  tension  of  that 
fiercest  of  all  struggles,  when  a  man  sits  throttling 
his  own  soul  into  silence. 

And,  after  a  long  time,  Burke  lifted  a  haggard 
190 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

face  from  the  cradle  of  his  crossed  arms  and 
shook  his  shoulders,  drawing  a  deep,  steady 
breath. 

"  Listen  to  me  \  "  he  said  in  an  altered  voice. 

And  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  nodded. 


191 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

"  WHEN  I  left  the  Point  I  was  assigned  to  the 
colored  cavalry.  They  are  good  men ;  we  went  up 
Kettle  Hill  together.  Then  came  the  Philippine 
troubles,  then  that  Chinese  affair.  Then  I  did 
staff  duty,  and  could  not  stand  the  inactivity  and 
resigned.  They  had  no  use  for  me  in  Manchuria ; 
I  tired  of  waiting,  and  went  to  Venezuela.  The 
prospects  for  service  there  were  absurd;  I  heard 
of  the  Moorish  troubles  and  went  to  Morocco. 
Others  of  my  sort  swarmed  there;  matters 
dragged  and  dragged,  and  the  Kaiser  never 
meant  business,  anyway. 

"  Being  independent,  and  my  means  permitting 
me,  I  got  some  shooting  in  the  back  country. 
This  all  degenerated  into  the  merest  nomadic 
wandering  —  nothing  but  sand,  camels,  ruins, 
tents,  white  walls,  and  blue  skies.  And  at  last 
I  came  to  the  town  of  Sa-el-Hagar.5' 

His  voice  died  out;  his  restless,  haunted  eyes 
became  fixed. 

"  Sa-el-Hagar,  once  ancient  Sai's,"  repeated  the 
192 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

Tracer  quietly ;  and  the  young  man  looked  at 
him. 

"You  know  that?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Tracer. 

For  a  while  Burke  remained  silent,  preoccupied, 
then,  resting  his  chin  on  his  hand  and  speaking 
in  a  curiously  monotonous  voice,  as  though  re 
peating  to  himself  by  rote,  he  went  on: 

"  The  town  is  on  the  heights — have  you  a  pen 
cil?  Thank  you.  Here  is  the  town  of  Sa-el- 
Hagar,  here  are  the  ruins,  here  is  the  wall,  and 
somewhere  hereabouts  should  be  the  buried  temple 
of  Neith,  which  nobody  has  found."  He  shifted 
his  pencil.  "  Here  is  the  lake  of  Sai's ;  here,  stand 
ing  all  alone  on  the  plain,  are  those  great  mono 
lithic  pillars  stretching  away  into  perspective — 
four  hundred  of  them  in  all — a  hundred  and  nine 
still  upright.  There  were  one  hundred  and  ten 
when  I  arrived  at  El  Teb  Wells." 

He  looked  across  at  the  Tracer,  repeating: 
"  One  hundred  and  ten — when  I  arrived.  One 
fell  the  first  night — a  distant  pillar  far  away  on 
the  horizon.  Four  thousand  years  had  it  stood 
there.  And  it  fell — the  first  night  of  my  arrival. 
I  heard  it;  the  nights  are  cold  at  El  Teb  Wells, 
and  I  was  lying  awake,  all  a-shiver,  counting  the 
stars  to  make  me  sleep.  And  very,  very  far  away 
193 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

in  the  desert  I  heard  and  felt  the  shock  of  its  fall 
— the  fall  of  forty  centuries  under  the  Egyptian 
stars." 

His  eyes  grew  dreamy ;  a  slight  glow  had  stained 
his  face. 

"  Did  you  ever  halt  suddenly  in  the  Northern 
forests,  listening,  as  though  a  distant  voice  had 
hailed  you?  Then  you  understand  why  that  far, 
dull  sound  from  the  dark  horizon  brought  me  to 
my  feet,  bewildered,  listening,  as  though  my  own 
name  had  been  spoken. 

"  I  heard  the  wind  in  the  tents  and  the  stir  of 
camels ;  I  heard  the  reeds  whispering  on  Sais  Lake 
and  the  yap-yap  of  a  shivering  jackal ;  and  always, 
always,  the  hushed  echo  in  my  ears  of  my  own  name 
called  across  the  star-lit  waste. 

"  At  dawn  I  had  forgotten.  An  Arab  told  me 
that  a  pillar  had  fallen ;  it  was  all  the  same  to  me, 
to  him,  to  the  others,  too.  The  sun  came  out  hot. 
I  like  heat.  My  men  sprawled  in  the  tents ;  some 
watered,  some  went  up  to  the  town  to  gossip  in 
the  bazaar.  I  mounted  and  cast  bridle  on  neck — 
you  see  how  much  I  cared  where  I  went!  In  two 
hours  we  had  completed  a  circle — like  a  ruddy 
hawk  above  El  Teb.  And  my  horse  halted  beside 
the  fallen  pillar." 

As  he  spoke  his  language  had  become  very  sim- 
194 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

pie,  very  direct,  almost  without  accent,  and  he 
spoke  slowly,  picking  his  way  with  that  lack  of 
inflection,  of  emotion  characteristic  of  a  child 
reading  a  new  reader. 

4  The  column  had  fallen  from  its  base,  east 
ward,  and  with  its  base  it  had  upheaved  another 
buried  base,  laying  bare  a  sort  of  cellar  and  a 
flight  of  stone  steps  descending  into  darkness. 

"  Into  this  excavation  the  sand  was  still  run 
ning  in  tiny  rivulets.  Listening,  I  could  hear  it 
pattering  far,  far  down  into  the  shadows. 

"  Sitting  there  in  the  saddle,  the  thing  ex 
plained  itself  as  I  looked.  The  fallen  pillar  had 
been  built  upon  older  ruins ;  all  Egypt  is  that  way, 
ruin  founded  on  the  ruin  of  ruins — like  human 
hopes. 

*  The  stone  steps,  descending  into  the  shadow 
of  remote  ages,  invited  me.    I  dismounted,  walked 
to    the    edge    of   the   excavation,    and,   kneeling, 
peered   downward.      And  I   saw   a   wall  and   the 
lotus-carved    rim    of   a   vast    stone-framed   pool; 
and  as  I  looked  I  heard  the  tinkle  of  water.    For 
the    pillar,    falling,    had    unbottled    the    ancient 
spring,    and   now   the    stone-framed    lagoon    was 
slowly  filling  after  its  drought  of  centuries. 

*  There  was  light  enough  to  see  by,  but,  not 
knowing  how  far  I  might  penetrate,  I  returned  to 

195 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

my  horse,  pocketed  matches  and  candles  from  the 
saddlebags,  and,  returning,  started  straight  down 
the  steps  of  stone. 

"Fountain,  wall,  lagoon,  steps,  terraces  half 
buried — all  showed  what  the  place  had  been:  a 
water  garden  of  ancient  Egypt — probably  royal 
— because,  although  I  am  not  able  to  decipher 
hieroglyphics,  I  have  heard  somewhere  that  these 
picture  inscriptions,  when  inclosed  in  a  cartouch 
like  this  " — he  drew  rapidly — 


"  or  this 


0 


indicate  that  the  subject  of  the  inscription  was 
once  a  king. 

"  And  on  every  wall,  every  column,  I  saw  the 
insignia  of  ancient  royalty,  and  I  saw  strange 
hawk-headed  figures  bearing  symbols  engraved 
on  stone — beasts,  birds,  fishes,  unknown  signs  and 
symbols ;  and  everywhere  the  lotus  carved  in  stone 
— the  bud,  the  blossom  half -inclosed,  the  perfect 
flower." 

His  dreamy  eyes  met  the  gaze  of  the  Tracer, 
unseeing;  he  rested  his  sunburned  face  between 
196 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST   PERSONS 

both  palms,  speaking  in  the  same  vague  mono 
tone: 

"  Everywhere  dust,  ashes,  decay,  the  death  of 
life,  the  utter  annihilation  of  the  living — save  only 
the  sparkle  of  reborn  waters  slowly  covering  the 
baked  bed  of  the  stone-edged  pool — strange,  lumi 
nous  water,  lacking  the  vital  sky  tint,  enameled 
with  a  film  of  dust,  yet,  for  all  that,  quickening 
with  imprisoned  brilliancy  like  an  opal. 

"  The  slow  filling  of  the  pool  fascinated  me ;  I 
stood  I  know  not  how  long  watching  the  thin  film 
of  water  spreading  away  into  the  dimness  beyond. 
At  last  I  turned  and  passed  curiously  along  the 
wall  where,  at  its  base,  mounds  of  dust  marked 
what  may  have  been  trees.  Into  these  I  probed 
with  my  riding  crop,  but  discovered  nothing 
except  the  depths  of  the  dust. 

"  When  I  had  penetrated  the  ghost  of  this  an 
cient  garden  for  a  thousand  yards  the  light  from 
the  opening  was  no  longer  of  any  service.  I 
lighted  a  candle ;  and  its  yellow  rays  fell  upon  a 
square  portal  into  which  led  another  flight  of 
steps.  And  I  went  down. 

'  There  were  eighteen  steps  descending  into  a 

square  stone  room.     Strange  gleams  and  glimmers 

from  wall  and  ceiling  flashed  dimly  in  my  eyes 

under  the  wavering  flame  of  the  candle.    Then  the 

197 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST   PERSONS 

flame  grew  still — still  as  death — and  Death  lay  at 
my  feet — there  on  the  stone  floor — a  man,  square 
shouldered,  hairless,  the  cobwebs  of  his  tunic  man 
tling  him,  lying  face  downward,  arms  outflung. 

"  After  a  moment  I  stooped  and  touched  him, 
and  the  entire  prostrate  figure  dissolved  into  dust 
where  it  lay,  leaving  at  my  feet  a  shadow  shape  in 
thin  silhouette  against  the  pavement — merely  a 
gray  layer  of  finest  dust  shaped  like  a  man,  a 
tracery  of  impalpable  powder  on  the  stones. 

"  Upward  and  around  me  I  passed  the  burning 
candle ;  vast  figures  in  blue  and  red  and  gold  grew 
out  of  the  darkness;  the  painted  walls  sparkled; 
the  shadows  that  had  slept  through  all  those  cen 
turies  trembled  and  shrank  away  into  distant 
corners, 

"  And  then — and  then  I  saw  the  gold  edges  of 
her  sandals  sparkle  in  the  darkness,  and  the 
clasped  girdle  of  virgin  gold  around  her  slender 
waist  glimmered  like  purest  flame !  " 

Burke,  leaning  far  across  the  table,  interlocked 
hands  tightening,  stared  and  stared  into  space. 
A  smile  edged  his  mouth;  his  voice  grew  wonder 
fully  gentle: 

"  Why,  she  was  scarcely  eighteen — this  child — 
lying  there  so  motionless,  so  lifelike,  with  the  san 
dals  edging  her  little  upturned  feet,  and  the  small 
198 


"'As  though   .   .   .   scarcely  sound  asleep  as  yet.'" 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

hands  of  her  folded  between  the  breasts.  It  was 
as  though  she  had  just  stretched  herself  out  there 
— scarcely  sound  asleep  as  yet,  and  her  thick,  silky 
htvir — cut  as  they  cut  children's  hair  in  these  days, 
you  know — cradled  her  head  and  cheeks. 

"  So  marvelous  the  mimicry  of  life,  so  absolute 
the  deception  of  breathing  sleep,  that  I  scarce 
dared  move,  fearing  to  awaken  her. 

"  When  I  did  move  I  forgot  the  dusty  shape 
of  the  dead  at  my  feet,  and  left,  full  across  his 
neck,  the  imprint  of  a  spurred  riding  boot.  It 
gave  me  my  first  shudder;  I  turned,  feeling  be 
neath  my  foot  the  soft,  yielding  powder,  and  stood 
aghast.  Then — it  is  absurd ! — but  I  felt  as  a  man 
feels  who  has  trodden  inadvertently  upon  an 
other's  foot — and  in  an  impulse  of  reparation  I 
stooped  hastily  and  attempted  to  smooth  out  the 
mortal  dust  which  bore  the  imprint  of  my  heel. 
But  the  fine  powder  flaked  my  glove,  and,  looking 
about  for  something  to  compose  the  ashes  with, 
I  picked  up  a  papyrus  scroll.  Perhaps  he  himself 
had  written  on  it ;  nobody  can  ever  know,  and  I 
used  it  as  a  sort  of  hoe  to  scrape  him  together  and 
smooth  him  out  on  the  stones." 

The  young  man  drew  a  yellowish  roll  of  paper- 
like  substance  from  his  pocket  and  laid  it  on  the 
table. 

14  199 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

;  This  is  the  same  papyrus,"  he  said.  "  I  had 
forgotten  that  I  carried  it  away  with  me  until  I 
found  it  in  my  shooting  coat  while  packing  to  sail 
for  New  York." 

The  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  reached  over  and 
picked  up  the  scroll.  It  was  flexible  still,  but 
brittle;  he  opened  it  with  great  care,  considered 
the  strange  figures  upon  it  for  a  while,  then  turned 
almost  sharply  on  his  visitor. 

"  Go  on,"  he  said. 

And  Burke  went  on : 

"  The  candle  was  burning  low ;  I  lighted  two 
more,  placing  them  at  her  head  and  feet  on  the 
edges  of  the  stone  couch.  Then,  lighting  a  third 
candle,  I  stood  beside  the  couch  and  looked  down 
at  the  dead  girl  under  her  veil-like  robe,  set  with 
golden  stars." 

He  passed  his  hand  wearily  over  his  hair  and 
forehead. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  the  accepted  meaning  of 
beauty  may  be  if  it  was  not  there  under  my  eyes. 
Flawless  as  palest  amber  ivory  and  rose,  the 
smooth-flowing  contours  melted  into  exquisite 
symmetry ;  lashes  like  darkest  velvet  rested  on  the 
pure  curve  of  the  checks ;  the  closed  lids,  the 
mouth  still  faintly  stained  with  color,  the  delicate 
nose,  the  full,  childish  lips,  sensitive,  sweet,  rest- 
200 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

ing  softly  upon  each  other — if  these  were  not  all 
parts  of  but  one  lovely  miracle,  then  there  is  no 
beauty  save  in  a  dream  of  Paradise.  .  .  . 

"  A  gold  band  of  linked  scarabs  bound  her 
short,  thick  hair  straight  across  the  forehead; 
thin  scales  of  gold  fell  from  a  necklace,  clothing 
her  breasts  in  brilliant  discolored  metal,  through 
which  ivory-tinted  skin  showed.  A  belt  of  pure, 
soft  gold  clasped  her  body  at  the  waist;  gold- 
edged  sandals  clung  to  her  little  feet. 

"  At  first,  when  the  stunned  surprise  had  sub 
sided,  I  thought  that  I  was  looking  upon  some 
miracle  of  ancient  embalming,  hitherto  unknown. 
Yet,  in  the  smooth  skin  there  was  no  slit  to  prove 
it,  no  opening  in  any  vein  or  artery,  no  mutilation 
of  this  sculptured  masterpiece  of  the  Most  High, 
no  cerements,  no  bandages,  no  gilded  carven  case 
with  painted  face  to  stare  open  eyed  through  the 
waiting  cycles. 

"  This  was  the  image  of  sleep — of  life  uncon 
scious — not  of  death.  Yet  is  was  death — death 
that  had  come  upon  her  centuries  and  centuries 
ago ;  for  the  gold  had  turned  iridescent  and  mag 
nificently  discolored ;  the  sandal  straps  fell  into 
dust  as  I  bent  above  them,  leaving  the  sandals 
clinging  to  her  feet  only  by  the  wired  silver  core 
of  the  thongs.  And,  as  I  touched  it  fearfully,  the 
201 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

veil-like  garment  covering  her,  vanished  into  thin 
air,  its  metal  stars  twinkling  in  a  shower  around 
her  on  the  stone  floor." 

The  Tracer,  motionless,  intent,  scarcely 
breathed;  the  younger  man  moved  restlessly  in 
his  chair,  the  dazed  light  in  his  eyes  clearing  to 
sullen  consciousness. 

"  What  more  is  there  to  tell?  "  he  said.  "  And 
to  what  purpose  ?  All  this  is  time  wasted.  I  have 
my  work  cut  out  for  me.  What  more  is  there  to 
tell?" 

"  What  you  have  left  untold,"  said  the  Tracer, 
with  the  slightest  ring  of  authority  in  his  quiet 
voice. 

And,  as  though  he  had  added  "  Obey !  "  the 
younger  man  sank  back  in  his  chair,  his  hands  con 
tracting  nervously. 

"  I  went  back  to  El  Teb,"  he  said;  "  I  walked 
like  a  dreaming  man.  My  sleep  was  haunted  by 
her  beauty ;  night  after  night,  when  at  last  I  fell 
asleep,  instantly  I  saw  her  face,  and  her  dark  eyes 
opening  into  mine  in  childish  bewilderment;  day 
after  day  I  rode  out  to  the  fallen  pillar  and  de 
scended  to  that  dark  chamber  where  she  lay  alone. 
Then  there  came  a  time  when  I  could  not  endure 
the  thought  of  her  lying  there  alone.  I  had  never 
dared  to  touch  her.  Horror  of  what  might  hap- 
202 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

pen  had  held  me  aloof  lest  she  crumble  at  my  touch 
to  that  awful  powder  which  I  had  trodden  on. 

"  I  did  not  know  what  to  do ;  my  Arabs  had  be 
gun  to  whisper  among  themselves,  suspicious  of  my 
absences,  impatient  to  break  camp,  perhaps,  and 
roam  on  once  more.  Perhaps  they  believed  I  had 
discovered  treasure  somewhere ;  I  am  not  sure.  At 
any  rate,  dread  of  their  following  me,  determina 
tion  to  take  my  dead  away  with  me,  drove  me  into 
action;  and  that  day  when  I  reached  her  silent 
chamber  I  lighted  my  candle,  and,  leaning  above 
her  for  one  last  look,  I  touched  her  shoulder  with 
my  finger  tip. 

"  It  was  a  strange  sensation.  Prepared  for  a 
dreadful  dissolution,  utterly  unprepared  for  cool, 
yielding  flesh,  I  almost  dropped  where  I  stood. 
For  her  body  was  neither  cold  nor  warm,  neither 
dust-dry  nor  moist ;  neither  the  skin  of  the  living 
nor  the  dead.  It  was  firm,  almost  stiff,  yet  not 
absolutely  without  a  certain  hint  of  flexibility. 

"  The  appalling  wonder  of  it  consumed  me ; 
fear,  incredulity,  terror,  apathy  succeeded  each 
other;  then  slowly  a  fierce  shrinking  happiness 
swept  me  in  every  fiber. 

"  This  marvelous  death,  this  triumph  of  beauty 
over  death,  was  mine.  Never  again  should  she  lie 
here  alone  through  the  solitudes  of  night  and  day ; 
203 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST   PERSONS 

never  again  should  the  dignity  of  Death  lack  the 
tribute  demanded  of  Life.  Here  was  the  ap 
pointed  watcher — I,  who  had  found  her  alone  in 
the  wastes  of  the  world — all  alone  on  the  outer 
most  edges  of  the  world — a  child,  dead  and  un 
guarded.  And  standing  there  beside  her  I  knew 
that  I  should  never  love  again." 

He  straightened  up,  stretching  out  his  arm :  "  I 
did  not  intend  to  carry  her  away  to  what  is  known 
as  Christian  burial.  How  could  I  consign  her  to 
darkness  again,  with  all  its  dreadful  mockery  of 
marble,  all  its  awful  emblems? 

;4  This  lovely  stranger  was  to  be  my  guest  for 
ever.  The  living  should  be  near  her  while  she  slept 
so  sweetly  her  slumber  through  the  centuries ;  she 
should  have  warmth,  and  soft  hangings  and  sun 
light  and  flowers ;  and  her  unconscious  ears  should 
be  filled  with  the  pleasant  stir  of  living  things. 
...  I  have  a  house  in  the  country,  a  very  old 
house  among  meadows  and  young  woodlands. 
And  I — I  had  dreamed  of  giving  this  child  a 
home " 

His  voice  broke ;  he  buried  his  head  in  his  hands 
a  moment ;  but  when  he  lifted  it  again  his  features 
were  hard  as  steel. 

"  There  was  already  talk  in  the  bazaar  about 
me.  I  was  probably  followed,  but  I  did  not  know 
204 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

it.  Then  one  of  my  men  disappeared.  For  a  week 
I  hesitated  to  trust  my  Arabs ;  but  there  was  no 
other  way.  I  told  them  there  was  a  mummy  which 
I  desired  to  carry  to  some  port  and  smuggle  out 
of  the  country  without  consulting  the  Govern 
ment.  I  knew  perfectly  well  that  the  Government 
would  never  forego  its  claim  to  such  a  relic  of 
Egyptian  antiquity.  I  offered  my  men  too  much, 
perhaps.  I  don't  know.  They  hesitated  for  a 
week,  trying  by  every  artifice  to  see  the  treasure, 
but  I  never  let  them  out  of  my  sight. 

"  Then  one  day  two  white  men  came  into  camp ; 
and  with  them  came  a  government  escort  to  arrest 
me  for  looting  an  Egyptian  tomb.  The  white  men 
were  Joram  Smiles  and  that  Eurasian,  Emanuel 
Gandon,  who  was  partly  white,  I  suppose.  I 
didn't  comprehend  what  they  were  up  to  at  first. 
They  escorted  me  forty  miles  to  confront  the  of 
ficial  at  Shen-Bak.  When,  after  a  stormy  week, 
I  was  permitted  to  return  to  Sai's,  my  Arabs  and 
the  white  men  were  gone.  And  the  stone  chamber 
under  the  water  garden  wall  was  empty  as  the 
hand  I  hold  out  to  you !  " 

He  opened  his  palm  and  rose,  his  narrowing 
eyes  clear  and  dangerous. 

"  At  the  bazaar  I  learned  enough  to  know  what 
had  been  done.  I  traced  the  white  men  to  the 
205 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

coast.  They  sailed  on  the  Scythian  Queen,  taking 
with  them  all  that  I  care  for  on  earth  or  in 
heaven!  And  you  ask  me  why  I  measure  their 
distance  from  me  by  a  bullet's  flight !  " 

The  Tracer  also  rose,  pale  and  grave. 

"  Wait !  "  he  said.  "  There  are  other  things  to 
be  done  before  you  prepare  to  face  a  jury  for 
double  murder." 

"  It  is  for  them  to  choose,"  said  Burke.  "  They 
shall  have  the  choice  of  returning  to  me  my  dead, 
or  of  going  to  hell  full  of  lead." 

"  Exactly,  my  dear  sir.  That  part  is  not  dif 
ficult,"  said  the  Tracer  quietly.  "  There  will  be 
no  occasion  for  violence,  I  assure  you.  Kindly 
leave  such  details  to  me.  I  know  what  is  to  be 
done.  You  are  outwardly  very  calm,  Mr.  Burke 
— even  dangerously  placid ;  but  though  you  main 
tain  an  admirable  command  over  yourself  super 
ficially,  you  are  laboring  under  terrible  excitement. 
Therefore  it  is  my  duty  to  say  to  you  at  once  that 
there  is  no  cause  for  your  excitement,  no  cause  for 
your  apprehension  as  to  results.  I  feel  exceed 
ingly  confident  that  you  will,  in  due  time,  regain 
possession  of  all  that  you  care  for  most — 
quietly,  quietly,  my  dear  sir!  You  are  not  yet 
ready  to  meet  these  men,  nor  am  I  ready  to  go 
with  you.  I  beg  you  to  continue  your  habit  of 
206 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST   PERSOXS 


n  mum 


u 

tsa 


a 


U^N 


o  ~<U 


207 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

self-command  for  a  little  while.  There  is  no  haste 
— that  is  to  say,  there  is  every  reason  to  make 
haste  slowly.  And  the  quickest  method  is  to  seat 
yourself.  Thank  you.  And  I  shall  sit  here  beside 
you  and  spread  out  this  papyrus  scroll  for  your 
inspection." 

Burke  stared  at  the  Tracer,  then  at  the  scroll. 

"  What  has  that  inscription  to  do  with  the  mat 
ter  in  hand?  "  he  demanded  impatiently. 

"  I  leave  you  to  judge,"  said  the  Tracer.  A 
dull  tint  of  excitement  flushed  his  lean  cheeks ;  he 
twisted  his  gray  mustache  and  bent  over  the  un 
rolled  scroll  which  was  now  held  flat  by  weights  at 
the  four  corners. 

"  Can  you  understand  any  of  these  symbols, 
Mr.  Burke  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No." 

"  Curious,"  mused  the  Tracer.  "  Do  you  know 
it  was  fortunate  that  you  put  this  bit  of  papyrus 
in  the  pocket  of  your  shooting  coat — so  fortu 
nate  that,  in  a  way,  it  approaches  the  miracu 
lous?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Is  there  anything  in 
that  scroll  bearing  on  this  matter  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  can  read  it  ?  Are  you  versed  in  such 
learning,  Mr.  Keen  ?  " 

208 


THE  TRACER  OF  LOST  PERSONS 

"  I  am  an  Egyptologist — among  other  details," 
said  the  Tracer  calmly. 

The  young  man  gazed  at  him,  astonished.  The 
Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  picked  up  a  pencil,  laid  a 
sheet  of  paper  on  the  table  beside  the  papyrus, 
and  slowly  began  to  copy  the  first  symbol : 


209 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"  THE  ancient  Egyptian  word  for  the  personal 
pronoun  '  I  '  was  awuk?  said  the  Tracer  placidly. 
'  The  phonetic  for  a  was  the  hieroglyph 


a  reed;  for  n  the  water  symbol 

AVWV 
for  u  the  symbols 


for  k 


Therefore  this  hieroglyphic  inscription  begins  with 
the  personal  pronoun 


or  /.     That  is  very  easy,  of  course. 

"  Now,  the  most  ancient  of  Egyptian  inscrip 
tions  read  vertically  in  columns;  there  are  only 
two  columns  in  this  papyrus,  so  we'll  try  it  verti 
cally  and  pass  downward  to  the  next  symbol,  which 
is  inclosed  in  a  sort  of  frame  or  cartouch.  That 
210 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

immediately  signifies  that  royalty  is  mentioned; 
therefore,  we  have  already  translated  as  much  as 
4 1,  the  king  (or  queen).'  Do  you  see?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Burke,  staring. 

"  Very  well.      Now   this   symbol,  number  two, 


spells  out  the  word  4  Meris?  in  this  way:  M  (pro 
nounced  me)  is  phonetically  symbolized  by  the 
characters 


r  by 

(a  mouth)  and  the  comma 

3 
and  the  hieroglyph 

i  by  two  reeds 


and  two  oblique  strokes, 

\\ 
and  s  by 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

This  gives  us  Meris,  the  name  of  that  deposed 
and  fugitive  king  of  Egypt  who,  after  a  last 
raid  on  the  summer  palace  of  Mer-Shen,  usurp 
ing  ruler  of  Egypt,  was  followed  and  tracked  to 
Sai's,  where,  with  an  arrow  through  his  back,  he 
crawled  to  El  Teb  and  finally  died  there  of  his 
wound.  All  this  Egyptologists  are  perfectly 
familiar  with  in  the  translations  of  the  boastful 
tablets  and  inscriptions  erected  near  Sai's  by  Mer- 
Shen,  the  three  hundred  and  twelfth  sovereign 
after  Queen  Nitocris." 

He  looked  up  at  Burke,  smiling.  "  Therefore," 
he  said,  "  this  papyrus  scroll  was  written  by  Meris, 
ex-king,  a  speculative  thousands  of  years  before 
Christ.  And  it  begins  :  '  I,  Meris  the  King.5  " 

"  How  does  all  this  bear  upon  what  concerns 
me  ?  "  demanded  Burke. 

"Wait!" 

Something  in  the  quiet  significance  of  the  Tra 
cer's  brief  command  sent  a  curious  thrill  through 
the  younger  man.  He  leaned  stiffly  forward, 
studying  the  scroll,  every  faculty  concentrated  on 
the  symbol  which  the  Tracer  had  now  touched  with 
the  carefully  sharpened  point  of  his  pencil  : 


"  That,"  said  Mr.  Keen,  "  is  the  ancient  Egyp- 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 


tian  word  for  *  little,'  *  Ket  .'  The  next,  below, 
written  in  two  lines,  is  '  Samaris,'  a  proper  name 
—the  name  of  a  woman.  Under  that,  again,  is  the 
symbol  for  the  number  18  ;  the  decimal  sign, 

n 

and  eight  vertical  strokes, 


Under  that,  again,  is  a  hieroglyph  of  another  sort, 
an  ideograph  representing  a  girl  with  a  harp; 
and,  beneath  that,  the  symbol  which  always  repre 
sented  a  dancing  girl 


and  also  the  royal  symbol  inclosed  in  a  cartouch, 


12 


which  means  literally  '  the  Ruler  of  Upper  and 
Lower  Egypt.'  Under  that  is  the  significant 
symbol 


213 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

representing  an  arm  and  a  hand  holding  a  stick. 
This  always  means  force — to  take  forcibly  or  to 
use  violence.  Therefore,  so  far,  we  have  the  fol 
lowing  literal  translation :  '  I,  Meris  the  King,  little 
Samaris,  eighteen,  a  harpist,  dancing  girl,  the 
Ruler  of  Upper  and  Lower  Egypt,  to  take  by  vio 
lence '  " 

"  What  does  that  make?  "  broke  in  Burke  im 
patiently. 

"  Wait!  Wait  until  we  have  translated  every 
thing  literally.  And,  Mr.  Burke,  it  might  make 
it  easier  for  us  both  if  you  would  remember  that 
I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  deciphering  many  hun 
dreds  of  papyri  before  you  had  ever  heard  that 
there  were  such  things." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  young  man  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  I  beg  yours  for  my  impatience,"  said  the 
Tracer  pleasantly.  "  This  deciphering  always  did 
affect  my  nerves  and  shorten  my  temper.  And,  no 
doubt,  it  is  quite  as  hard  on  you.  Shall  we  go  on, 
Mr.  Burke?" 

"  If  you  please,  Mr.  Keen." 

So  the  Tracer  laid  his  pencil  point  on  the  next 
symbol 


214 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  That  is  the  symbol  for  night,"  he  said  ;  "  and 
that 


is  the  water  symbol  again,  as  you  know  ;  and  that 


is  the  ideograph,  meaning  a  ship.    The  five  reversed 
crescents 


record  the  number  of  days  voyage;  the  sign 


means  a  house,  and  is  also  the  letter  H  in  the 
Egyptian  alphabet. 

"  Under  it,  again,  we  have  a  repetition  of  the 
first  symbol  meaning  /,  and  a  repetition  of  the 
second  symbol,  meaning  '  Meris,  the  King.'  Then, 
below  that  cartouch,  comes  a  new  symbol, 


which  is  the  feminine  personal  pronoun,  sentus, 
meaning  '  she  '  ;  and  the  first  column  is  completed 
with  the  symbol  for  the  ancient  Egyptian  verb, 
nehes,  '  to  awake,' 


15 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  And  now  we  take  the  second  column,  which 
begins  with  the  jackal  ideograph  expressing  sly 
ness  or  cleverness.  Under  it  is  the  hieroglyph 
meaning  '  to  run  away,'  '  to  escape.'  And  under 
that,  Mr.  Burke,  is  one  of  the  rarest  of  all 
Egyptian  symbols ;  a  symbol  seldom  seen  on  stone 
or  papyrus, 


except  in  rare  references  to  the  mysteries  of  Isis. 
The  meaning  of  it,  so  long  in  dispute,  has  finally 
been  practically  determined  through  a  new  dis 
covery  in  the  cuneiform  inscriptions.  It  is  the 
symbol  of  two  hands  holding  two  closed  eyes  ;  and 
it  signifies  power." 

4  You    mean    that    those    ancients    understood 
hypnotism?  "  asked  Burke,  astonished. 

"  Evidently  their  priests  did  ;  evidently  hyp 
notism  was  understood  and  employed  in  certain 
mysteries.  And  there  is  the  symbol  of  it;  and 
under  it  the  hieroglyphs 


meaning  '  a  day  and  a  night,'  with  the  symbol 


216 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

as  usual  present  to  signify  force  or  strength  em 
ployed.  Under  that,  again,  is  a  human  figure 
stretched  upon  a  typical  Egyptian  couch.  And 
now,  Mr.  Burke,  note  carefully  three  modifying 
signs :  first,  that  it  is  a  couch  or  bed  on  which  the 
figure  is  stretched,  not  the  funeral  couch,  not  the 
embalming  slab;  second,  there  is  no  mummy  mask 
covering  the  face,  and  no  mummy  case  covering 
the  body;  third,  that  under  the  recumbent  figure 
is  pictured  an  open  mouth,  not  a  closed  one. 

"  All  these  modify  the  ideograph,  apparently 
representing  death.  But  the  sleep  symbol  is  not 
present.  Therefore  it  is  a  sound  inference  that 
all  this  simply  confirms  the  symbol  of  hypnotism." 

Burke,  intensely  absorbed,  stared  steadily  at 
the  scroll. 

"  Now,"  continued  Mr.  Keen,  "  we  note  the 
symbol  of  force  again,  always  present ;  and,  con 
tinuing  horizontally,  a  cartouch  quite  empty  ex 
cept  for  the  midday  sun.  That  is  simply  trans 
lated  ;  the  midday  sun  illuminates  nothing.  Meris, 
deposed,  is  king  only  in  name ;  and  the  sun  no 
longer  shines  on  him  as  c  Ruler  of  Upper  and 
Lower  Egypt.'  Under  that  despairing  symbol, 
*  King  of  Nothing,'  we  have 

csn 


217 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

the  phonetics  which  spell  sha,  the  word  for  garden. 
And,  just  beyond  this,  horizontally,  the  modifying 
ideograph  meaning  '  a  water  garden ' ; 


a  design  of  lotus  and  tree  alternating  on  a  terrace. 
Under  that  is  the  symbol  for  the  word  '  anebj 


a  '  wall.'  Beyond  that,  horizontally,  is  the  symbol 
for  '  house.'  It  should  be  placed  under  the  wall 
symbol,  but  the  Egyptians  were  very  apt  to  fill 
up  spaces  instead  of  continuing  their  vertical  col 
umns.  Now,  beneath,  we  find  the  imperative  com 
mand 


'  arise ! '      And   the    Egyptian   personal    pronoun 
4  emtwtenf 


which  means  '  you  '  or  '  thou.' 
"  Under  that  is  the  symbol 


218 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

which  means  '  priest,'  or,  literally,  '  priest  man.' 
Then  comes  the  imperative  '  awake  to  life ! ' 


After  that,  our  first  symbol  again,  meaning  '  /,' 
followed  horizontally  by  the  symbol 

A 

signifying  '  to  go.' 

"  Then  comes  a  very  important  drawing — you 
see? — the  picture  of  a  man  with  a  jackal's  head, 
not  a  dog's  head.  It  is  not  accompanied  by  the 
phonetic  in  a  cartouch,  as  it  should  be.  Probably 
the  writer  was  in  desperate  haste  at  the  end.  But, 
nevertheless,  it  is  easy  to  translate  that  symbol  of 
the  man  with  a  jackal's  head.  It  is  a  picture  of 
the  Egyptian  god,  Anubis,  who  was  supposed  to 
linger  at  the  side  of  the  dying  to  conduct  their 
souls.  Anubis,  the  jackal-headed,  is  the  courier, 
the  personal  escort  of  departing  souls.  And  this 
is  he. 

"  And  now  the  screed  ends  with  the  cry  '  Pray 
for  me ! ' 


219 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST   PERSONS 


the  last  symbol  on  this  strange  scroll — this  missive 
written  by  a  deposed,  wounded,  and  dying  king 
to  an  unnamed  priest.  Here  is  the  literal  trans 
lation  in  columns : 


Meris  the  King 
little 
Samaris 
eighteen 
a  harpist 

a  dancing  girl — Ruler  of 
Upper   and    Lower 

Egypt 

took  forcibly — night 

by  water 

five  days 

ship 

house 

I 

Meris  the  King 

she 

awake 


cunning 

escape 

hypnotize 

King  of  Nothing  ) 

place  forcibly        j 

garden  | 

water  garden  ) 

wall 

house 

Arise.     Do 

Thou 

Priest  Man 

Awake  ) 

To  life  ) 

I  go 

Anubis 

Pray 


"  And  this  is  what  that  letter,  thousands  of 
years  old,  means  in  this  language  of  ours,  hun 
dreds  of  years  young :  '  I,  Meris  the  King,  seized 
little  Samaris,  a  harpist  and  a  dancing  girl,  eight 
een  years  of  age,  belonging  to  the  King  of  Upper 
and  Lower  Egypt,  and  carried  her  away  at  night 
on  shipboard — a  voyage  of  five  days — to  my 
220 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

house.  I,  Meris  the  King,  lest  she  lie  awake  watch 
ing  cunningly  for  a  chance  to  escape,  hypnotized 
her  (or  had  her  hypnotized)  so  that  she  lay  like 
one  dead  or  asleep,  but  breathing,  and  I,  King  no 
longer  of  Upper  and  Lower  Egypt,  took  her  and 
placed  her  in  my  house  under  the  wall  of  the  water 
garden.  Arise!  therefore,  O  thou  priest;  (go) 
and  awaken  her  to  life.  I  am  dying  (I  go  with 
Anubis  !).  Pray  for  me ! '  " 


CHAPTER   XX 

FOR  a  full  minute  the  two  men  sat  there  without 
moving  or  speaking.  Then  the  Tracer  laid  aside 
his  pencil. 

"  To  sum  up,"  he  said,  opening  the  palm  of  his 
left  hand  and  placing  the  forefinger  of  his  right 
across  it,  "  the  excavation  made  by  the  falling  pillar 
raised  in  triumph  above  the  water  garden  of  the 
deposed  king,  Meris,  by  his  rival,  was  the  sub 
terranean  house  of  Meris.  The  prostrate  figure 
which  crumbled  to  powder  at  your  touch  may  have 
been  the  very  priest  to  whom  this  letter  or  papy 
rus  was  written.  Perhaps  the  bearer  of  the  scroll 
was  a  traitor  and  stabbed  the  priest  as  he  was 
reading  the  missive.  Who  can  tell  how  that  priest 
died?  He  either  died  or  betrayed  his  trust,  for  he 
never  aroused  the  little  Samaris  from  her  sus 
pended  animation.  And  the  water  garden  fell  into 
ruins  and  she  slept ;  and  the  Ruler  of  Upper  and 
Lower  Egypt  raised  his  columns,  lotus  crowned, 
above  the  ruins;  and  she  slept  on.  Then — you 
came." 

Burke  stared  like  one  stupefied. 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  Tracer  gravely, 
"  what  balm  there  may  be  in  a  suspension  of  sen 
sation,  perhaps  of  vitality,  to  protect  the  human 
body  from  corruption  after  death.  I  do  not  know 
how  soon  suspended  animation  or  the  state  of  hyp 
notic  coma,  undisturbed,  changes  into  death — 
whether  it  comes  gradually,  imperceptibly  free 
ing  the  soul ;  whether  the  soul  hides  there,  asleep, 
until  suddenly  the  flame  of  vitality  is  extinguished. 
I  do  not  know  how  long  she  lay  there  with  life 
in  her." 

He  leaned  back  and  touched  an  electric  bell, 
then,  turning  to  Burke: 

"  Speaking  of  pistol  range,"  he  said,  "  unstrap 
those  weapons  and  pass  them  over,  if  you  please." 

And  the  young  man  obeyed  as  in  a  trance. 

"  Thank  you.  There  are  four  men  coming  into 
this  room.  You  will  keep  your  seat,  if  you  please, 
Mr.  Burke." 

After  a  moment  the  door  opened  noiselessly. 
Two  men  handcuffed  together  entered  the  room; 
two  men,  hands  in  their  pockets,  sauntered  care- 
lessty  behind  the  prisoners  and  leaned  back  against 
the  closed  door. 

"  That  short,  red-haired,  lame  man  with  the  cast 
in  his  eye — do  you  recognize  him?  "  asked  the 
Tracer  quietly. 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

Burke,  grasping  the  arms  of  his  chair,  had 
started  to  rise,  fury  fairly  blazing  from  his  eyes ; 
but,  at  the  sound  of  the  Tracer's  calm,  even  voice, 
he  sank  back  into  his  chair. 

''  That  is  Joram  Smiles?  You  recognize  him?  " 
continued  Mr.  Keen. 

Burke  nodded. 

"  .Exactly — alias  Limpy,  alias  Red  Jo,  alias  Big 
Stick  Joram,  alias  Pinky;  swindler,  international 
confidence  man,  fence,  burglar,  gambler ;  convicted 
in  1887,  and  sent  to  Sing  Sing  for  forgery ;  con 
victed  in  1898,  and  sent  to  Auburn  for  swindling ; 
arrested  by  my  men  on  board  the  S.S.  Scythian 
Queen,  at  the  cabled  request  of  John  T.  Burke, 
Esquire,  and  held  to  explain  the  nature  of  his  lug 
gage,  which  consisted  of  the  contents  of  an  Egyp 
tian  vault  or  underground  ruin,  declared  at  the 
customhouse  as  a  mummy,  and  passed  as  such." 

The  quiet,  monotonous  voice  of  the  Tracer 
halted,  then,  as  he  glanced  at  the  second  prisoner, 
grew  harder: 

"  Emanuel  Gandon,  general  international  crim 
inal,  with  over  half  a  hundred  aliases,  arrested  in 
company  with  Smiles  and  held  until  Mr.  Burke's 
arrival." 

Turning  to  Burke,  the  Tracer  continued :  "  For 
tunately,  the  Scythian  Queen  broke  down  off  Brin- 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

disi.  It  gave  us  time  to  act  on  your  cable;  we 
found  these  men  aboard  when  she  was  signaled  off 
the  Hook.  I  went  out  with  the  pilot  myself,  Mr. 
Burke." 

Smiles  shot  a  wicked  look  at  Burke;  Gandon 
scowled  at  the  floor. 

"  Now,"  said  the  Tracer  pleasantly,  meeting 
the  venomous  glare  of  Smiles,  "  I'll  get  you  that 
warrant  you  have  been  demanding  to  have  ex 
hibited  to  you.  Here  it  is — charging  you  and 
your  amiable  friend  Gandon  with  breaking  into 
and  robbing  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  ancient 
Egyptian  gold  ornaments,  in  March,  1903,  and 
taking  them  to  France,  where  they  were  sold  to 
collectors.  It  seems  that  you  found  the  business 
good  enough  to  go  prowling  about  Egypt  on  a 
hunt  for  something  to  sell  here.  A  great  mis 
take,  my  friends — a  very  great  mistake,  because, 
after  the  Museum  has  finished  with  you,  the 
Egyptian  Government  desires  to  extradite  you. 
And  I  rather  suspect  you'll  have  to  go." 

He  nodded  to  the  two  quiet  men  leaning  against 
the  door. 

"  Come,  Joram,"  said  one  of  them  pleasantly. 

But  Smiles  turned  furiously  on  the  Tracer. 
"  You  lie,  you  old  gray  rat !  "  he  cried.  "  That 
ain't  no  mummy;  that's  a  plain  dead  girl!  And 
225 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

there  ain't  no  extrydition  for  body  snatchin',  so 
I  guess  them  niggers  at  Cairo  won't  get  us,  after 
all!" 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  Tracer,  looking  at  Burke, 
who  had  risen,  pale  and  astounded.  "  Sit  down, 
Mr.  Burke!  There  is  no  need  to  question  these 
men ;  no  need  to  demand  what  they  robbed  you  of. 
For,"  he  added  slowly,  "  what  they  took  from  the 
garden  grotto  of  Sai's,  and  from  you,  I  have  under 
my  own  protection." 

The  Tracer  rose,  locked  the  door  through  which 
the  prisoners  and  their  escorts  had  departed ;  then, 
turning  gravely  on  Burke,  he  continued  : 

"  That  panel,  there,  is  a  door.  There  is  a  room 
beyond — a  room  facing  to  the  south,  bright  with 
sunshine,  flowers,  soft  rugs,  and  draperies  of  the 
East.  She  is  there — like  a  child  asleep !  " 

Burke  reeled,  steadying  himself  against  the 
wall;  the  Tracer  stared  at  space,  speaking  very 
slowly : 

"  Such  death  I  have  never  before  heard  of. 
From  the  moment  she  came  under  my  protection 
I  have  dared  to  doubt — many  things.  And  an 
hour  ago  you  brought  me  a  papyrus  scroll  con 
firming  my  doubts.  I  doubt  still — Heaven  knows 
what !  Who  can  say  how  long  the  flame  of  life  may 
flicker  within  suspended  animation?  A  week? 
226 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

A  month?  A  year?  Longer  than  that?  Yes;  the 
Hindoos  have  proved  it.  How  long?  The  span 
of  a  normal  life?  Or  longer?  Can  the  life  flame 
burn  indefinitely  when  the  functions  are  absolutely 
suspended — generation  after  generation,  century 
after  century ?  " 

Burke,  ghastly  >hite,  straightened  up,  quiver 
ing  in.  every  limb ;  the  Tracer,  as  pale  as  he,  laid 
his  hand  on  the  secret  panel. 

"  If — if  you  cUre  say  it — the  phrase  is  this : 
'  0  Ket  Samaris,  Nehes  !  ' — '  O  Little  Samaris, 
awake!'" 

"  I — dare.  In  Heaven's  name,  open  that 
door ! " 

Then,  averting  his  head,  the  Tracer  of  Lost 
Persons  swung  open  the  panel. 

A  flood  of  sunshine  flashed  on  Burke's  face ;  he 
entered;  and  the  paneled  door  closed  behind  him 
without  a  sound. 

Minute  after  minute  passed;  the  Tracer  stood 
as  though  turned  to  stone,  gray  head  bent. 

Then  he  heard  Burke's  voice  ring  out  un 
steadily  : 

"  O  Ket  Samaris — Samaris !  O  Ket  Samaris — 
Nehes  ! " 

And  again :  "  Samaris !  Samaris !  O  beloved, 
awake !  " 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

And  once  more :  "  Nehes  !    O  Samaris  !  " 

Silence,  broken  by  a  strange,  sweet,  drowsy 
plaint — like  a  child  awakened  at  midnight  by  a 
dazzling  light. 

"  Samaris !  " 

Then,  through  the  stillness,  a  little  laugh,  and 
a  softly  tremulous  voice: 

"  Ari  un  aha,  0  Entuk  sen  ! " 


228 


CHAPTER  XXI 

"  WHAT  we  want  to  do,"  said  Gatewood  over  the 
telephone,  "  is  to  give  you  a  corking  little  dinner 
at  the  Santa  Rcgina.  There'll  be  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Tommy  Kerns,  Captain  and  Mrs.  Harren,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Jack  Burke,  Mrs.  Gatewood,  and  myself. 
We  want  you  to  set  the  date  for  it,  Mr.  Keen,  and 
we  also  wish  you  to  suggest  one  more  deliriously 
happy  couple  whom  you  have  dragged  out  of  mis 
ery  and  flung  head-first  into  terrestrial  paradise." 

"  Do  you  young  people  really  care  to  do  this 
for  me  ?  "  asked  the  Tracer,  laughing. 

"  Of  course  we  do.  We're  crazy  about  it.  We 
want  one  more  couple,  and  you  to  set  the  date." 

There  was  the  slightest  pause ;  then  the  Tracer's 
voice,  with  the  same  undertone  of  amusement  ring 
ing  through  it: 

"  How  would  your  cousin,  Victor  Garden,  do  ?  " 

"  He's  all  right,  only  he  isn't  married.  We  want 
two  people  whom  you  have  joined  together  after 
hazard  has  put  them  asunder  and  done  stunts  with 
them." 

"  Very  well ;  Victor  Garden  and  his  very  lovely 
wife  will  be  just  the  people." 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Is  Victor  married? "  demanded  Gatewood, 
astonished. 

"  No,"  said  the  Tracer  demurely,  "  but  he  will 
be  in  time  for  that  dinner."  And  he  set  the  date 
for  the  end  of  the  week  in  an  amused  voice,  and 
rang  off. 

Then  he  glanced  at  the  clock,  touched  an  elec 
tric  bell,  and  again  unhooking  the  receiver  of  the 
telephone,  called  up  the  Sherwood  Studios  and 
asked  for  Mr.  Garden. 

"  Is  this  Mr.  Garden  ?  Oh,  good  morning,  Mr. 
Garden !  This  is  Mr.  Keen,  Tracer  of  Lost  Per 
sons.  Could  you  make  it  convenient  to  call — 
say  in  course  of  half  an  hour?  Thank  you.  .  .  . 
What?  .  .  .  Well,  speaking  with  that  caution 
and  reserve  which  we  are  obliged  to  employ  in 
making  any  preliminary  statements  to  our  clients, 
I  think  I  may  safely  say  that  you  have  every 
reason  to  feel  moderately  encouraged." 

"  You  mean,"  said  Garden's  voice,  "  that  you 
have  actually  solved  the  proposition?" 

"  It  has  been  a  difficult  proposition,  Mr.  Car- 
den  ;  I  will  not  deny  that  it  has  taxed  our  resources 
to  the  uttermost.  Over  a  thousand  people,  first 
and  last,  have  been  employed  on  this  case.  It  has 
been  a  slow  and  tedious  affair,  Mr.  Garden — te 
dious  for  us  all.  We  seldom  have  a  case  continue 
230 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

as  long  as  this  has ;  it  is  a  year  ago  to-day  since 
you  placed  the  matter  in  our  hands.  .  .  .What? 
Well,  without  committing  myself,  I  think  that  I 
may  venture  to  express  a  carefully  qualified  opin 
ion  that  the  solution  of  the  case  is  probably  prac 
tically  in  the  way  of  being  almost  accomplished! 
.  .  .  Yes,  I  shall  expect  you  in  half  an  hour. 
Good-by ! " 

The  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons'  eyes  were  twin 
kling  as  he  hung  up  the  receiver  and  turned  in  his 
revolving  chair  to  meet  the  pretty  young  woman 
who  had  entered  in  response  to  his  ring. 

"  The  Garden  case,  if  you  please,  Miss  Smith," 
he  said,  smiling  to  himself. 

The  young  woman  also  smiled ;  the  Garden  case 
had  become  a  classic  in  the  office.  Nobody  except 
Mr.  Keen  had  believed  that  the  case  could  ever  be 
solved. 

"  Safe-deposit  box  108923 !  "  said  Miss  Smith 
softly,  pressing  a  speaking  tube  to  her  red  lips. 
In  a  few  moments  there  came  a  hissing  thud  from 
the  pneumatic  tube;  Miss  Smith  unlocked  it  and 
extracted  a  smooth,  steel  cylinder. 

"  The  combination  for  that  cylinder  is  A-4-44- 
11-X,"  observed  the  Tracer,  consulting  a  cipher 
code,  "  which,  translated,"  he   added,  "  gives   us 
the  setting  combination,  One,  D,  R-R,-J-'£4." 
16  231 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

Miss  Smith  turned  the  movable  disks  at  the  end 
of  the  cylinder  until  the  required  combination  ap 
peared.  Then  she  unscrewed  the  cylinder  head 
and  dumped  out  the  documents  in  the  famous 
Garden  case. 

"  As  Mr.  Garden  will  be  here  in  half  an  hour 
or  so  I  think  we  had  better  run  over  the  case 
briefly,"  nodded  the  Tracer,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair  and  composing  himself  to  listen.  "  Begin 
with  my  preliminary  memorandum,  Miss  Smith." 

"  Case  108923,"  began  the  girl.  Then  she  read 
the  date,  Garden's  full  name,  Victor  Garden,  a 
terse  biography  of  the  same  gentleman,  and  added : 
"  Case  accepted.  Contingent  fee,  $5,000." 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Mr.  Keen ;  "  now,  run  through 
the  minutes  of  the  first  interview." 

And  Miss  Smith  unrolled  a  typewritten  scroll 
and  read: 

"  Victor  Garden,  Esquire,  the  well-known  artist, 
called  this  evening  at  6.30.  Tall,  well-bred,  good 
appearance,  very  handsome;  very  much  embar 
rassed.  Questioned  by  Mr.  Keen  he  turned  pink, 
and  looked  timidly  at  the  stenographer  (Miss 
Colt).  Asked  if  he  might  not  see  Mr.  Keen  alone, 
Miss  Colt  retired.  Mr.  Keen  set  the  recording 
phonograph  in  motion  by  dropping  his  elbow  on 
his  desk." 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

A  brief  resume  of  the  cylinder  records  followed : 
"  Mr.  Garden  asked  Mr.  Keen  if  he  (Mr.  Keen) 
knew  who  he  (Mr.  Garden)  was.    Mr.  Keen  replied 
that  everybody  knew  Mr.  Garden,  the  celebrated 
painter  and  illustrator  who  had  created  the  popu 
lar  type  of  beauty  known  as  the  '  Garden  Girl.' 
Mr.  Garden  blushed  and  fidgeted.      (Notes  from 
Mr.    Keen's    Observation    Book,    pp.    291-297.) 
Admitted  that  he  was  the  creator  of  the  {  Garden 
Girl.'     Admitted  he  had  drawn  and  painted  that 
particular  type  of  feminine  beauty  many  times. 
Fidgeted   some  more.      (Keen's  0.  B.,  pp.  298- 
299.)    Volunteered  the  statement  that  this  type  of 
beauty,  known  as  the  4  Garden  Girl,'  was  the  cause 
of    great    unhappiness   to    himself.      Questioned, 
turned  pinker  and  fidgeted.     (K.  0.  £.,  page  300.) 
Denied  that  his  present  trouble  was  caused  by  the 
model  who  had  posed  for  the  '  Garden  Girl.'     Ex 
plained   that   a  number   of   assorted  models   had 
posed  for  that  type  of  beauty.    Further  explained 
that  none  of  them  resembled  the  type;  that  the 
type  was  his  own  creation;  that  he  used  models 
merely  for  the  anatomy,  and  that  he  always  ideal 
ized  form  and  features. 

"  Questioned  again,  admitted  that  the  features 
of  the  '  Garden  Girl '  were  his  ideal  of  the  highest 
and  loveliest  type  of  feminine  beauty.     Did  not 
233 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

deny  that  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  his  own  crea 
tion.  Turned  red  and  tried  to  smoke.  (K.  0.  #., 
page  303.)  Admitted  he  had  been  fascinated  him 
self  with  his  own  rendering  of  a  type  of  beauty 
which  he  had  never  seen  anywhere  except  as  rendered 
by  his  own  pencil  on  paper  or  on  canvas.  Fid 
geted.  (K.  0.  B.,  page  304.)  Admitted  that  he 
could  easily  fall  in  love  with  a  woman  who  resem 
bled  the  '  Garden  Girl.'  Didn't  believe  she  ever 
really  existed.  Confessed  he  had  hoped  for  years 
to  encounter  her,  but  had  begun  to  despair.  Ad 
mitted  that  he  had  ventured  to  think  that  Mr. 
Keen  might  trace  such  a  girl  for  him.  Doubted 
Mr.  Keen's  success.  Fidgeted  (K.  0.  B.,  page 
306) ,  and  asked  Mr.  Keen  to  take  the  case.  Prom 
ised  to  send  to  Mr.  Keen  a  painting  in  oil  which 
embodied  his  loftiest  ideal  of  the  type  known  as 
the  'Garden  Girl.'  (Portrait  received;  litho 
graphs  made  and  distributed  to  our  agents  accord 
ing  to  routine,  from  Canada  to  Mexico  and  from 
the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific.) 

"  Mr.  Keen  terminated  the  interview  with  char 
acteristic  tact,  accepting  the  case  on  the  contin 
gent  fee  of  $5,000." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Tracer,  as  Miss  Smith 
rolled  up  the  scroll  and  looked  at  him  for  further 
instructions.     "  Now,  perhaps  you  had  better  run 
234 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

over  the  short  summary  of  proceedings  to  date. 
I  mean  the  digest  which  you  will  find  attached  to 
the  completed  records." 

Miss  Smith  found  the  paper,  unrolled  it,  and 
read : 

"  During  the  twelve  months'  investigation  and 
search  (in  re  Garden)  seven  hundred  and  nine 
young  women  were  discovered  who  resembled  very 
closely  the  type  sought  for.  By  process  of  elimi 
nation,  owing  to  defects  in  figure,  features,  speech, 
breeding,  etc.,  etc.,  this  list  was  cut  down  to  three. 
One  of  these  occasionally  chewed  gum,  but  other 
wise  resembled  the  type.  The  second  married 
before  the  investigation  of  her  habits  could  be 
completed.  The  third  is  apparently  a  flawless 
replica  of  Mr.  Garden's  original  in  face,  figure, 
breeding,  education,  moral  and  mental  habits.  (See 
Document  23,  ^.)" 

"  Read  Document  23,  A,"  nodded  Mr.  Keen. 

And  Miss  Smith  read : 

ROSALIND  HOLLIS,  M.D. 

Age 24 

Height 5  feet  9  inches 

Weight 160   pounds 

S  Thick,  bright,  ruddy 
golden,  and  inclined 
to  curl. 
235 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

Teeth Perfect 

Eyes Dark  violet-blue 

Mouth Perfect 

Color  i  Fair.      An  ivory-tinted 

I  blonde. 

Figure Perfect 

Health Perfect 

Temper Feminine 

(  Austere,  with  a  reso- 
Habits J  lutely  suppressed 

(  capacity  for  romance. 

Business None 

Profession Physician 

Mania A  Mission 

"  NOTE. — Dr.  Rosalind  Hollis  was  presented  to 
society  in  her  eighteenth  year.  At  the  end  of  her 
second  season  she  withdrew  from  society  with  the 
detemination  to  devote  her  entire  life  to  charity. 
Settlement  work  and  the  study  of  medicine  have 
occupied  her  constantly.  Recently  admitted  to 
practice,  she  spends  her  mornings  in  visiting  the 
poor,  whom  she  treats  free  of  all  charge ;  her  after 
noons  and  evenings  are  devoted  to  what  she  ex 
pects  is  to  be  her  specialty :  the  study  of  the  rare 
malady  known  as  Lamour's  Disease.  (See  note  on 
second  page.) 

"  It  is  understood  that  Dr.  Hollis  has  abjured 
the  society  of  all  men  other  than  her  patients 
236 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

and  such  of  her  professional  confreres  as  she  is 
obliged  to  consult  or  work  with.  Her  theory  is 
that  of  the  beehive :  drones  for  mates,  workers  for 
work.  She  adds,  very  decidedly,  that  she  belongs 
to  the  latter  division,  and  means  to  remain  there 
permanently. 

"  NOTE  (Mr.  Keen's  0.  B.,  pp.  916-18).— Her 
eccentricity  is  probably  the  result  of  a  fine,  whole 
some,  highly  strung  young  girl  taking  life  and 
herself  too  seriously.  The  remedy  will  be  the 
Right  Man.'9 

"Exactly,"  nodded  Mr.  Keen,  joining  the  tips 
of  his  thin  fingers  and  partly  closing  his  eyes. 
"  Now,  Miss  Smith,  the  disease  which  Dr.  Hollis 
intends  to  make  her  specialty — have  you  any  notes 
on  that?" 

"  Here  they  are,"  said  Miss  Smith ;  and  she 
read :  "  Lamour's  Disease ;  the  rarest  of  all  known 
diseases ;  first  discovered  and  described  by  Ero  S. 
Lamour,  M.D.,  M.S.,  F.B.A.,  M.F.H.,  in  1861. 
Only  a  single  case  has  ever  been  observed.  This 
case  is  fully  described  in  Dr.  Lamour's  superb  and 
monumental  work  in  sixteen  volumes.  Briefly,  the 
disease  appears  without  any  known  cause,  and  is 
ultimately  supposed  to  result  fatally.  The  first 
symptom  is  the  appearance  of  a  faintly  bluish 
circle  under  the  eyes,  as  though  the  patient  was 
237 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

accustomed  to  using  the  eyes  too  steadily  at 
times.  Sometimes  a  slight  degree  of  fever  accom 
panies  this  manifestation;  pulse  and  temperature 
vary.  The  patient  is  apparently  in  excellent 
health,  but  liable  to  loss  of  appetite,  restlessness, 
and  a  sudden  flushing  of  the  face.  These  symp 
toms  are  followed  by  others  unmistakable:  the 
patient  becomes  silent  at  times;  at  times  evinces 
a  weakness  for  sentimental  expressions;  flushes 
easily ;  is  easily  depressed ;  will  sit  for  hours  look 
ing  at  one  person ;  and,  if  not  checked,  will  exhibit 
impulsive  symptoms  of  affection  for  the  opposite 
sex.  The  strangest  symptom  of  all,  however,  is 
the  physical  change  in  the  patient,  whose  features 
and  figure,  under  the  trained  eye  of  the  observer, 
gradually  from  day  to  day  assume  the  symmetry 
and  charm  of  a  beauty  almost  unearthly,  some 
times  accompanied  by  a  spiritual  pallor  which  is 
unmistakable  in  confirming  the  diagnosis,  and 
which,  Dr.  Lamour  believes,  presages  the  inexor 
able  approach  of  immortality. 

'  There  is  no  known  remedy  for  Lamour's 
Disease.  The  only  case  on  record  is  the  case  of 
the  young  lady  described  by  Dr.  Lamour,  who 
watched  her  for  years  with  unexampled  patience 
and  enthusiasm ;  finally,  in  the  interest  of  science, 
marrying  his  patient  in  order  to  devote  his  life 
238 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

to  a  study  of  her  symptoms.  Unfortunately,  some 
of  these  disappeared  early — within  a  week — but 
the  curious  manifestation  of  physical  beauty  re 
mained,  and  continued  to  increase  daily  to  a  daz 
zling  radiance,  with  no  apparent  injury  to  the  pa 
tient.  Dr.  Lamour,  unfortunately,  died  before  his 
investigations,  covering  over  forty  years,  could  be 
completed;  his  widow  survived  him  for  a  day  or 
two  only,  leaving  sixteen  children. 

"  Here  is  a  wide  and  unknown  field  for  medical 
men  to  investigate.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  the  phy 
sician  who  first  discovers  the  bacillus  of  Lamour's 
Disease  and  the  proper  remedy  to  combat  it  will 
reap  as  his  reward  a  glory  and  renown  imperish 
able.  Lamour's  Disease  is  a  disease  not  yet  under 
stood — a  disease  whose  termination  is  believed  to 
be  fatal — a  strange  disease  which  seems  to  render 
radiant  and  beautiful  the  features  of  the  patient, 
brightening  them  with  the  forewarning  of  im 
pending  death  and  the  splendid  resurrection  of 
immortality." 

The  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  caressed  his  chin 
reflectively.  "  .Exactly,  Miss  Smith.  So  this  is 
the  disease  which  Dr.  Hollis  has  chosen  for  her 
specialty.  And  only  one  case  on  record.  .Exactly. 
Thank  you." 

Miss  Smith  replaced  the  papers  in  the  steel 
239 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

cylinder,  slipped  it  into  the  pneumatic  tube,  sent 
it  whizzing  below  to  the  safe-deposit  vaults,  and, 
saluting  Mr.  Keen  with  a  pleasant  inclination  of 
her  head,  went  out  of  the  room. 

The  Tracer  turned  in  his  chair,  picked  up  the 
daily  detective  report,  and  scanned  it  until  he 
came  to  the  name  Hollis.  It  appeared  that  the 
daily  routine  of  Rosalind  Hollis  had  not  varied 
during  the  past  three  weeks.  In  the  mornings  she 
was  good  to  the  poor  with  bottles  and  pills;  in 
the  afternoons  she  tucked  one  of  Lamour's  famous 
sixteen  volumes  under  her  arm  and  walked  to  Cen 
tral  Park,  where,  with  democratic  simplicity,  she 
sat  on  a  secluded  bench  and  pored  over  the  symp 
toms  of  Lamour's  Disease.  About  five  she  retired 
to  her  severely  simple  apartments  in  the  big  brown- 
stone  office  building  devoted  to  physicians,  corner 
of  Fifty-eighth  Street  and  Madison  Avenue.  Here 
she  took  tea,  read  a  little,  dined  all  alone,  and 
retired  about  nine.  This  was  the  guileless  but 
determined  existence  of  Rosalind  Hollis,  M.D., 
according  to  McConnell,  the  detective  assigned  to 
observe  her. 

The  Tracer  refolded  the  report  of  his  chief  of 
detectives  and  pigeonholed  it  just  as  the  door 
opened  and  a  tall,  well-built,  attractive  young  man 
entered. 

240 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

Shyness  was  written  all  over  him ;  he  offered  his 
hand  to  Mr.  Keen  with  an  embarrassed  air  and 
seated  himself  at  that  gentleman's  invitation. 

"  I'm  almost  sorry  I  ever  began  this  sort  of 
thing,"  he  blurted  out,  like  a  big  schoolboy  ap 
palled  at  his  own  misdemeanors.  "  The  truth  is, 
Mr.  Keen,  that  the  prospect  of  actually  seeing 
a  '  Garden  Girl '  alive  has  scared  me  through 
and  through.  I've  a  notion  that  my  business 
with  that  sort  of  a  girl  ends  when  I've  drawn  her 
picture." 

"  But  surely,"  said  the  Tracer  mildly,  "  you 
have  some  natural  curiosity  to  see  the  Hying  copy 
of  your  charming  but  inanimate  originals,  haven't 
you,  Mr.  Garden  ?  " 

"  Yes — oh,  certainly.  I'd  like  to  see  one  of  them 
alive — say  out  of  a  window,  or  from  a  cab.  I 
should  not  care  to  be  too  close  to  her." 

"  But  merely  seeing  her  does  not  commit  you," 
interposed  Mr.  Keen,  smiling.  "  She  is  far  too 
busy,  too  much  absorbed  in  her  own  affairs  to  take 
any  notice  of  you.  I  understand  that  she  has  some 
thing  of  an  aversion  for  men." 

"  Aversion !  " 

"  Well,  she  excludes  them  as  unnecessary  to  her 
existence." 

"Why?"  asked  Garden. 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST    PERSONS 

"  Because  she  has  a  mission  in  life,"  said  Mr. 
Keen  gravely. 

Garden  looked  out  of  the  window.  It  was  pleas 
ant  weather — June  in  all  its  early  loveliness — the 
fifth  day  of  June.  The  sixth  was  his  birthday. 

"  I've  simply  got  to  marry  somebody  before  the 
day  after  to-morrow,"  he  said  aloud — "  that  is,  if 
I  want  my  legacy." 

"  What!  "  demanded  the  Tracer  sharply. 

Garden  turned,  pink  and  guilty.  "  I  didn't  tell 
you  all  the  circumstances  of  my  case,"  he  said.  "  I 
suppose  I  ought  to  have  done  so." 

"  -Exactly,"  said  the  Tracer  severely.  "  Why  is 
it  necessary  that  you  marry  somebody  before  the 
day  after  to-morrow?" 

"  Well,  it's  my  twenty-fifth  birthday " 

"  Somebody  has  left  you  money  on  condition 
that  you  marry  before  your  twenty-fifth  birthday  ? 
Is  that  it,  Mr.  Garden?  An  uncle?  An  imbecile 
grandfather?  A  sentimental  aunt?  " 

"  My  Aunt  Tabby  Van  Beekman." 

"Where  is  she?" 

"  In  Trinity  churchyard.  It's  too  late  to  expos 
tulate  with  her,  you  see.  Besides,  it  wouldn't  have 
done  any  good  when  she  was  alive." 

The  Tracer  knitted  his  brows,  musing,  the  points 
of  his  slim  fingers  joined. 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  She  was  very  proud,  very  autocratic,"  said 
Garden.  "  I  am  the  last  of  my  race  and  my  aunt 
was  determined  that  the  race  should  not  die  out 
with  me.  I  don't  want  to  marry  and  increase,  but 
she's  trying  to  make  me.  At  all  events,  I  am  not 
going  to  marry  any  woman  inferior  to  the  type  I 
have  created  with  my  pencil — what  the  public  calls 
the  '  Garden  Girl.'  And  now  you  see  that  your  dis 
covery  of  this  living  type  comes  rather  late.  In 
two  days  I  must  be  legally  married  if  I  want  my 
Aunt  Tabby's  legacy ;  and  to-day  for  the  first  time 
I  hear  of  a  girl  who,  you  assure  me,  compares 
favorably  to  my  copyrighted  type,  but  who  has 
a  mission  and  an  aversion  to  men.  So  you  see, 
Mr.  Keen,  that  the  matter  is  perfectly  hopeless." 

"  I  don't  see  anything  of  the  kind,"  said  Mr. 
Keen  firmly. 

"  What?  —  do  you  believe  there  is  any 
chance " 

"  Of  your  falling  in  love  within  the  next  hour  or 
so  ?  Yes,  I  do.  I  think  there  is  every  chance  of  it. 
I  am  sure  of  it.  But  that  is  not  the  difficulty. 
The  problem  is  far  more  complicated." 

"  You  mean " 

"  Exactly ;  how  to  marry  that  girl  before  day 
after  to-morrow.  That's  the  problem,  Mr.  Car- 
den! — not  whether  you  are  capable  of  falling  in 
243 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

love  with  her.  I  have  seen  her;  I  know  you  can't 
avoid  falling  in  love  with  her.  Nobody  could.  I 
myself  am  on  the  verge  of  it ;  and  I  am  fifty :  you 
can't  avoid  loving  her." 

"  If  that  were  so,"  said  Garden  gravely ;  "  if  I 
were  really  going  to  fall  in  love  with  her — I  would 
not  care  a  rap  about  my  Aunt  Tabby  and  her 
money " 

"  You  ought  to  care  about  it  for  this  young 
girl's  sake.  That  legacy  is  virtually  hers,  not 
yours.  She  has  a  right  to  it.  No  man  can  ever 
give  enough  to  the  woman  he  loves;  no  man  has 
ever  done  so.  What  she  gives  and  what  he  gives 
are  never  a  fair  exchange.  If  you  can  balance 
the  account  in  any  measure,  it  is  your  duty  to  do 
it.  Mr.  Garden,  if  she  comes  to  love  you  she  may 
think  it  very  fine  that  you  bring  to  her  your  love, 
yourself,  your  fame,  your  talents,  your  success, 
your  position,  your  gratifying  income.  But  I  tell 
you  it's  not  enough  to  balance  the  account.  It  is 
never  enough — no,  not  all  your  devotion  to  her  in 
cluded  !  You  can  never  balance  the  account  on 
earth — all  you  can  do  is  to  try  to  balance  it  mate 
rially  and  spiritually.  Therefore  I  say,  endow  her 
with  all  your  earthly  goods.  Give  all  you  can  in 
every  way  to  lighten  as  much  as  possible  man's 
hopeless  debt  to  all  women  who  have  ever  loved." 
244 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  You  talk  about  it  as  though  I  were  already 
committed,"  said  Garden,  astonished. 

"  You  are,  morally.  For  a  month  I  have,  with 
out  her  knowledge,  it  is  true,  invaded  the  privacy 
of  a  very  lovely  young  girl — studied  her  minutely, 
possessed  myself  of  her  history,  informed  myself 
of  her  habits.  What  excuse  had  I  for  this  unless 
I  desired  her  happiness  and  yours  ?  Nobody  could 
offer  me  any  inducement  to  engage  in  such  a 
practice  unless  I  believed  that  the  means  might 
justify  a  moral  conclusion.  And  the  moral  con 
clusion  of  this  investigation  is  your  marriage  to 
her." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Garden  uneasily,  "  but  how 
are  we  going  to  accomplish  it  by  to-morrow?  How 
is  it  going  to  be  accomplished  at  all?  " 

The  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  rose  and  began  to 
pace  the  long  rug,  clasping  his  hands  behind  his 
back.  Minute  after  minute  sped;  Garden  stared 
alternately  at  Mr.  Keen  and  at  the  blue  sky 
through  the  open  window. 

"  It  is  seldom,"  said  Mr.  Keen  with  evident  an 
noyance,  "  that  I  personally  take  any  spectacular 
part  in  the  actual  and  concrete  demonstrations 
necessary  to  a  successful  conclusion  of  a  client's 
case.  But  I've  got  to  do  it  this  time." 

He  went  to  a  cupboard,  picked  out  a  gray  wig 
245 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

and  gray  side  whiskers  and  deliberately  waved 
them  at  Garden. 

"  You  see  what  these  look  like?"  he  demanded. 

"  Y-yes." 

"  Very  well.  It  is  now  noon.  Do  you  know  the 
Park?  Do  you  happen  to  recollect  a  shady  turn 
in  the  path  after  you  cross  the  bridge  over  the 
swan  lake?  Here ;  I'll  draw  it  for  you.  Now,  here 
is  the  lake;  here's  the  esplanade  and  fountain,  you 
see.  Here's  the  path.  You  follow  it  —  so !  — 
around  the  lake,  across  the  bridge,  then  following 
the  lake  to  the  right — so! — then  up  the  wooded 
slope  to  the  left — so!  Now,  here  is  a  bench.  I 
mark  it  Number  One.  She  sits  there  with  her  book 
— there  she  is !  " 

"  If  she  looks  like  that — "  began  Garden.  And 
they  both  laughed  with  the  slightest  trace  of  ex 
citement. 

"  Here  is  Bench  Number  Two !  "  resumed  the 
Tracer.  "  Here  you  sit — and  there  you  are !  " 

"  Thanks,"  said  Garden,  laughing  again. 

"  Now,"  continued  the  Tracer,  "  you  must  be 
there  at  one  o'clock.  She  will  be  there  at  one- 
thirty,  or  earlier  perhaps.  A  little  later  I  will 
become  benignly  visible.  Your  part  is  merely  a 
thinking  part ;  you  are  to  do  nothing,  say  nothing, 
unless  spoken  to.  And  when  you  are  spoken  to 
246 


17 


247 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

you  are  to  acquiesce  in  whatever  anybody  says  to 
you,  and  you  are  to  do  whatever  anybody  requests 
you  to  do.  And,  above  all,  don't  be  surprised  at 
anything'  that  may  happen.  You'll  be  nervous 
enough ;  I  expect  that.  You'll  probably  color  up 
and  flush  and  fidget;  I  expect  that;  I  count  on 
that.  But  don't  lose  your  nerve  entirely  ;  and  don't 
think  of  attempting  to  escape." 

"Escape!     From  what?     From  whom? " 

"  From  her." 

"  Her  ?  " 

"  Are  you  going  to  follow  my  instructions  ?  " 
demanded  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons. 

"  I — y-yes,  of  course." 

"  Very  well,  then.  I  am  going  to  rub  some  of 
this  under  your  eyes."  And  Mr.  Keen  produced 
a  make-up  box  and,  walking  over  to  Garden,  calmly 
darkened  the  skin  under  his  eyes. 

"  I  look  as  though  I  had  been  on  a  bat ! "  ex 
claimed  Garden,  surveying  himself  in  a  mirror. 
"  Do  you  think  any  girl  could  find  any  attraction 
in  such  a  countenance?  " 

"  She  will,"  observed  the  Tracer  meaningly. 
"  Now,  Mr.  Garden,  one  last  word :  The  moment 
you  find  yourself  in  love  with  her,  and  the  first 
moment  you  have  the  chance  to  do  so  decently, 
make  love  to  her.  She  won't  dismiss  you ;  she  will 
248 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

repulse  you,  of  course,  but  she  won't  let  you  go. 
I  know  what  I  am  saying;  all  I  ask  of  you  is  to 
promise  on  your  honor  to  carry  out  these  instruc 
tions.  Do  you  promise?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Then  here  is  the  map  of  the  rendezvous  which 
I  have  drawn.  Be  there  promptly.  Good  morn- 
ing." 


249 


CHAPTER   XXII 

AT  one  o'clock  that  afternoon  a  young  man 
earnestly  consulting  a  map  might  have  been  seen 
pursuing  his  solitary  way  through  Central  Park. 
Fresh  green  foliage  arched  above  him,  flecking  the 
path  with  fretted  shadow  and  sunlight;  the  sweet 
odor  of  flowering  shrubs  saturated  the  air;  the 
waters  of  the  lake  sparkled  where  swans  swept  to 
and  fro,  snowy  wings  spread  like  sails  to  the  fitful 
June  wind. 

"  This,"  he  murmured,  pausing  at  a  shaded  bend 
in  the  path,  "  must  be  Bench  Number  One.  I  am 
not  to  sit  on  that.  This  must  be  Bench  Number 
Two.  I  am  to  sit  on  that.  So  here  I  am,"  he  add 
ed  nervously,  seating  himself  and  looking  about 
him  with  the  caution  of  a  cat  in  a  strange  back 
yard. 

There  was  nobody  in  sight.  Reassured,  he  ven 
tured  to  drop  one  knee  over  the  other  and  lean  upon 
his  walking  stick.  For  a  few  minutes  he  remained 
in  this  noncommittal  attitude,  alert  at  every  sound, 
anxious,  uncomfortable,  dreading  he  knew  not  what. 
A  big,  fat,  gray  squirrel  racing  noisily  across  the 
250 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

fallen  leaves  gave  him  a  shock.  A  number  of  birds 
came  to  look  at  him — or  so  it  appeared  to  him, 
for  in  the  inquisitive  scrutiny  of  a  robin  he  fan 
cied  he  divined  sardonic  meaning,  and  in  the  blank 
yellow  stare  of  a  purple  grackle,  a  sinister  signifi 
cance  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  size  of  the  bird. 

"  What  an  absurd  position  to  be  in ! "  he 
thought.  And  suddenly  he  was  seized  with  a  desire 
to  flee. 

He  didn't  because  he  had  promised  not  to,  but 
the  desire  persisted  to  the  point  of  mania.  Oh, 
how  he  could  run  if  he  only  hadn't  promised  not 
to !  His  entire  being  tingled  with  the  latent  possi 
bilities  of  a  burst  of  terrific  speed.  He  wanted  to 
scuttle  away  like  a  scared  rabbit.  The  pace  of  the 
kangaroo  would  be  slow  in  comparison.  What  a 
record  he  could  make  if  he  hadn't  promised  not  to. 

He  crossed  his  knees  the  other  way  and  brooded. 
The  gray  squirrel  climbed  the  bench  and  nosed  his 
pockets  for  possible  peanuts,  then  hopped  off  hope 
fully  toward  a  distant  nursemaid  and  two  children. 

Growing  more  alarmed  every  time  he  consulted 
his  watch  Garden  attempted  to  stem  his  rising  panic 
with  logic  and  philosophy,  repeating :  "  Steady ! 
my  son !  Don't  act  like  this  !  You're  not  obliged 
to  marry  her  if  you  don't  fall  in  love  with  her; 
and  if  you  do,  you  won't  mind  marrying  her. 
251 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

That  is  philosophy.  That  is  logic.  Oh,  I  wonder 
what  will  have  happened  to  me  by  this  time  to-mor 
row  !  I  wish  it  were  this  time  to-morrow !  I  wish 
it  were  this  time  next  month !  Then  it  would  be  all 

over.     Then  it  would  be " 

His  muttering  speech  froze  on  his  lips.  Rooted 
to  his  bench  he  sat  staring  at  a  distant  figure  ap 
proaching — the  figure  of  a  young  girl  in  a  summer 
gown. 

Nearer,  nearer  she  came,  walking  with  a  free- 
limbed,  graceful  step,  head  high,  one  arm  clasping 
a  book. 

That  was  the  way  the  girls  he  drew  would  have 
walked  had  they  ever  lived.  Even  in  the  midst  of 
his  fright  his  artist's  eyes  noted  that:  noted  the 
perfect  figure,  too,  and  the  witchery  of  its  grace 
and  contour,  and  the  fascinating  poise  of  her  head, 
and  the  splendid  color  of  her  hair ;  noted  mechani 
cally  the  flowing  lines  of  her  gown,  and  the  dainty 
modeling  of  arm  and  wrist  and  throat  and  ear. 

Then,  as  she  reached  her  bench  and  seated  her 
self,  she  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him.  And 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  realized  that  ideal 
beauty  was  but  the  pale  phantom  of  the  real  and 
founded  on  something  more  than  imagination  and 
thought ;  on  something  of  vaster  import  than  fancy 
and  taste  and  technical  skill;  that  it  was  founded 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

on  Life  itself — on  breathing,  living,  palpitating, 
tremulous  Life! — from  which  all  true  inspiration 
must  come. 

Over  and  over  to  himself  he  was  repeating:  "  Of 
course,  it  is  perfectly  impossible  that  I  can  be  in 
love  already.  Love  doesn't  happen  between  two 
ticks  of  a  watch.  I  am  merely  amazed  at  that  girl's 
beauty ;  that  is  all.  I  am  merely  astounded  in  the 
presence  of  perfection ;  that  is  all.  There  is  noth 
ing  more  serious  the  matter  with  me.  It  isn't  neces 
sary  for  me  to  continue  to  look  at  her ;  it  isn't  vital 
to  my  happiness  if  I  never  saw  her  again.  .  .  . 
That  is — of  course,  I  should  like  to  see  her,  be 
cause  I  never  did  see  living  beauty  such  as  hers 
in  any  woman.  Not  even  in  my  pictures.  What 
superb  eyes!  What  a  fascinately  delicate  nose! 
What  a  nose !  By  Heaven,  that  nose  is  a  nose !  I'll 
draw  noses  that  way  in  future.  My  pictures  are 
all  out  of  drawing;  I  must  fit  arms  into  their 
sockets  the  way  hers  fit!  I  must  remember  the 
modeling  of  her  eyelids,  too — and  that  chin!  and 
those  enchanting  hands " 

She  looked  up  leisurely  from  her  book,  surveyed 
him  calmly,  absent-eyed,  then  bent  her  head  again 
to  the  reading. 

"  There  is  something  the  matter  with  me,"  he 
thought  with  a  suppressed  gulp.    "  I — if  she  looks 
253 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

at  me  again — with  those  iris-hued  eyes  of  a  young 
goddess — I — I  think  I'm  done  for.  I  believe  I'm 
done  for  anyway.  It  seems  rather  mad  to  think  it. 
But  there  is  something  the  matter " 

She  deliberately  looked  at  him  again. 

"  It's  all  wrong  for  them  to  let  loose  a  girl  like 
that  on  people,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "  all  wrong. 
Everybody  is  bound  to  go  mad  over  her.  I'm  go 
ing  now.  I'm  mad  already.  I  know  I  am,  which 
proves  I'm  no  lunatic.  It  isn't  her  beauty;  it's 
the  way  she  wears  it — every  motion,  every  breath 
of  her.  I  know  exactly  what  her  voice  is  like. 
Anybody  who  looks  into  her  eyes  can  see  what  her 
soul  is  like.  She  isn't  out  of  drawing  anywhere 
—physically  or  spiritually.  And  when  a  man  sees 
a  girl  like  that,  why — why  there's  only  one  thing 
that  can  happen  to  him  as  far  as  I  can  see.  And 
it  doesn't  take  a  year  either.  Heavens !  How  aw 
fully  remote  from  me  she  seems  to  be." 

She  looked  up  again,  calmly,  but  not  at  him.  A 
kindly,  gray-whiskered  old  gentleman  came  totter 
ing  and  rocking  into  view,  his  rosy,  wrinkled  face 
beaming  benediction  on  the  world  as  he  passed 
through  it — on  the  sunshine  dappling  the  under 
growth,  on  the  furry  squirrels  sitting  up  on  their 
hind  legs  to  watch  him  pass,  on  the  stray  dicky 
bird  that  hopped  fearlessly  in  his  path,  at  the 
254 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

young  man  sitting  very  rigid  there  on  his  bench, 
at  the  fair,  sweet-faced  girl  who  met  his  aged  eyes 
with  the  gentlest  of  involuntary  smiles.  And  Car- 
den  did  not  recognize  him! 

Who  could  help  smiling  confidently  into  that 
benign  face,  with  its  gray  hair  and  gray  whiskers? 
Goodness  radiated  from  every  wrinkle. 

"  Dr.  Atwood !  "  exclaimed  the  girl  softly  as  she 
rose  to  meet  this  marvelous  imitation  of  Dr.  Austin 
Atwood,  the  great  specialist  on  children's  diseases. 

The  old  man  beamed  weakly  at  her,  halted,  still 
beaming,  fumbled  for  his  eyeglasses,  adjusted 
them,  and  peered  closely  into  her  face. 

"  Bless  my  soul,"  he  smiled,  "  our  pretty  Dr. 
Hollis ! " 

"  I — I  did  not  suppose  you  would  remember 
me,"  she  said,  rosy  with  pleasure. 

"Remember  you?  Surely,  surely."  He  made 
her  a  quaint,  old-fashioned  bow,  turned,  and  peeped 
across  the  walk  at  Garden.  And  Garden,  looking 
straight  into  his  face,  did  not  know  the  old  man, 
who  turned  to  Dr.  Hollis  again  with  many  myste 
rious  nods  of  his  doddering  head. 

"You're  watching  him,  too,  are  you?"  he 
chuckled,  leaning  toward  her. 

"Watching  whom,  Dr.  Atwood?"  she  asked 
surprised. 

255 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Hush,  child !  I  thought  you  had  noticed  that 
unfortunate  and  afflicted  young  man  opposite." 

Dr.  Hollis  looked  curiously  at  Carden,  then  at 
the  old  gentleman  with  gray  whiskers. 

"  Please  sit  down,  Dr.  Atwood,  and  tell  me,"  she 
murmured.  "  I  have  noticed  nothing  in  particular 
about  the  young  man  on  the  bench  there."  And 
she  moved  to  give  him  room ;  and  the  young  man 
opposite  stared  at  them  both  as  though  bereft  of 
reason. 

"  A  heavy  book  for  small  hands,  my  child,"  said 
the  old  gentleman  in  his  quaintly  garrulous  fash 
ion,  peering  with  dimmed  eyes  at  the  volume  in 
her  lap. 

She  smiled,  looking  around  at  him. 

"  My,  my !  "  he  said,  tremblingly  raising  his 
eyeglasses  to  scan  the  title  on  the  page ;  "  Dr. 
Lamour's  famous  works !  Are  you  studying  La- 
mour,  child  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  with  that  charming  inflection 
youth  reserves  for  age. 

"Astonishing!"  he  murmured.  "The  coinci 
dence  is  more  than  remarkable.  A  physician  !  And 
studying  Lamour's  Disease !  Incredible !  " 

"  Is  there  anything  strange  in  that,  Dr.  At 
wood  ?  "  she  smiled. 

"  Strange !  "  He  lowered  his  voice,  peering 
256 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

across  at  Garden.  "  Strange,  did  you  say?  Look 
across  the  path  at  that  poor  young  man  sitting 
there!" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  perplexed,  "  I  see  him." 

"  What  do  you  see?  "  whispered  the  old  gentle 
man  in  a  shakily  portentous  voice.  "  Here  you 
sit  reading  about  what  others  have  seen ;  now  what 
do  you  see  ?  " 

"  Why,  only  a  man — rather  young 

"  No  symptoms'?  " 

"  Symptoms?     Of  what?  " 

The  old  gentleman  folded  his  withered  hands 
over  his  cane.  "  My  child,"  he  said,  "  for  a  year 
I  have  had  that  unfortunate  young  man  under 
secret  observation.  He  was  not  aware  of  it;  it 
never  entered  his  mind  that  I  could  be  observing 
him  with  minutest  attention.  He  may  have  sup 
posed  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with  him.  He 
was  in  error.  I  have  studied  him  carefully.  Look 
closer!  Are  there  dark  circles  under  his  eyes — or 
are  there  not  ?  "  he  ended  in  senile  triumph. 

"  There  are,"  she  began,  puzzled,  "  but  I — but 
of  what  interest  to  me " 

"  Compare  his  symptoms  with  the  symptoms  in 
that  book  you  are  studying,"  said  the  old  gentle 
man  hoarsely. 

"  Do  you  mean — do  you  suppose — "  she  stam- 
257 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

mered,  turning  her  eyes  on  Carden,  who  promptly 
blushed  to  his  ears  and  began  to  fidget. 

"  Every  symptom,"  muttered  the  old  gentleman. 
"  Poor,  poor  young  man !  " 

She  had  seen  Carden  turn  a  vivid  pink ;  she  now 
saw  him  fidget  with  his  walking  stick;  she  discov 
ered  the  blue  circles  under  his  eyes.  Three  symp 
toms  at  once! 

"  Do  you  believe  it  possible?  "  she  whispered 
excitedly  under  her  breath  to  the  old  gentleman  be 
side  her.  "  It  seems  incredible !  Such  a  rare  dis 
ease!  Only  one  single  case  ever  described  and 
studied!  It  seems  impossible  that  I  could  be  so 
fortunate  as  actually  to  see  a  case!  Tell  me,  Dr. 
Atwood,  do  you  believe  that  young  man  is  really 
afflicted  with  Lamour's  Disease?" 

"  There  is  but  one  way  to  be  absolutely  certain," 
said  the  old  gentleman  in  a  solemn  voice,  "  and 
that  is  to  study  him;  corroborate  your  suspicions 
by  observing  his  pulse  and  temperature,  as  did  Dr. 
Lamour." 

"But— how  can  I?"  she  faltered.  "  I— he 
would  probably  object  to  becoming  a  patient  of 
mine " 

"Ask  him,  child!    Ask  him." 

"  I  have  not  courage " 

"  Courage  should  be  the  badge  of  your  profes- 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

sion,"  said  the  old  gentleman  gravely.  "  When 
did  a  good  physician  ever  show  the  white  feather 
in  the  cause  of  humanity?  " 

"  I — I  know,  but  this  requires  a  different  sort  of 
courage." 

"  How,"  persisted  the  old  gentleman,  "  can  you 
confirm  your  very  natural  suspicions  concerning 
this  unfortunate  young  man  unless  you  corroborate 
your  observations  by  studying  him  at  close  range? 
Besides,  already  it  seems  to  me  that  certain  unmis 
takable  signs  are  visible ;  I  mean  that  strange  phys 
ical  phase  which  Dr.  Lamour  dwells  on:  the  sym 
metry  of  feature  and  limb,  the  curiously  spiritual 
beauty.  Do  you  not  notice  these?  Or  is  my  sight 
so  dim  that  I  only  imagine  it?  " 

"  He  is  certainly  symmetrical — and — in  a  certain 
way — almost  handsome  in  regard  to  features,"  she 
admitted,  looking  at  Garden. 

"  Poor,  poor  boy !  "  muttered  the  old  gentleman, 
wagging  his  gray  whiskers.  "  I  am  too  old  to  help 
him — too  old  to  dream  of  finding  a  remedy  for  the 
awful  malady  which  I  am  now  convinced  has  seized 
him.  I  shall  study  him  no  more.  It  is  useless. 
All  I  can  do  now  is  to  mention  his  case  to  some 
young,  vigorous,  ambitious  physician  —  some 
specialist " 

"  Don't!  "  she  whispered  almost  fiercely,  "  don't 
259 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

do  that,  Dr.  Atwood!  I  want  him,  please!  I 
— you  helped  me  to  discover  him,  you  see.  And 
his  malady  is  to  be  my  specialty.  Please,  do 
you  mind  if  I  keep  him  all  to  myself  and  study 
him?" 

"  But  you  refused,  child." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to.  I — I  didn't  exactly  see  how 
I  was  to  study  him.  But  I  must  study  him !  Oh, 
I  mustl  There  will  surely  be  some  way.  Please 
let  me.  You  discovered  him,  I  admit,  but  I  will 
promise  you  faithfully  to  devote  my  entire  life  to 
studying  him,  as  the  great  Lamour  devoted  his  life 
for  forty  years  to  his  single  patient." 

"  But  Dr.  Lamour  married  his  patient,"  said  the 
Tracer  mildly. 

"  He — I — that  need  not  be  necessary " 

"  But  if  it  should  prove  necessary?  " 

"  I— you " 

"  Answer  me,  child." 

She  stared  across  at  Garden,  biting  her  red  lips. 
He  turned  pink  promptly  and  fidgeted. 

"  He  lias  got  it !  "  she  whispered  excitedly.  "  Oh, 
do  you  mind  if  I  take  him  for  mine?  I  am  per 
fectly  wild  to  begin  on  him !  " 

"  You  have  not  yet  answered  my  question,"  said 
the  old  gentleman  gravely.  "  Do  you  lack  the 
courage  to  marry  him  if  L:  becomes  necessary  to 
260 


V 


Would  you  mind  sitting  here  for  a  few  moments? 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

do  so  in  order  to  devote  your  entire  life  to  studying 
him?" 

"  Oh — it  cannot  be  necessary " 

"  You  lack  the  courage." 

She  was  silent. 

"  Braver  things  have  been  done  by  those  of  your 
profession  who  have  gone  among  lepers,"  said  the 
old  gentleman  sadly. 

She  flushed  up  instantly ;  her  eyes  sparkled ;  her 
head  proudly  high,  delicate  nostrils  dilated. 

"  I  am  not  afraid !  "  she  said.  "  If  it  ever  be 
comes  necessary,  I  can  show  courage  and  devotion, 
as  well  as  those  of  my  profession  who  minister  to 
the  lepers  of  Molokai !  Yes ;  I  do  promise  you  to 
marry  him  if  I  cannot  otherwise  study  him.  And 
I  promise  you  solemnly  to  devote  my  entire  life 
to  observing  his  symptoms  and  searching  for 
proper  means  to  combat  them.  My  one  ambition 
in  life  is  personally  to  observe  and  study  a  case 
of  L amour's  Disease,  and  to  give  my  entire  life 
to  investigating  its  origin,  its  course,  and  its 
cure." 

The  old  gentleman  rose,  bowing  with  that 
quaintly  obsolete  courtesy  which  was  in  vogue  in 
his  youth. 

"  I  am  contented  to  leave  him  exclusively  to  you, 
Dr.  Hollis.  And  I  wish  you  happiness  in  your 
261 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

life's  work — and  success  in  your  cure  of  this  un 
happy  young  man." 

Hat  in  hand,  he  bowed  again  as  he  tottered  past 
her,  muttering  and  smiling  to  himself  and  shaking 
his  trembling  head  as  he  went  rocking  on  unsteady 
legs  out  into  the  sunshine,  where  the  nursemaids 
and  children  flocked  along  the  lake  shore  throwing 
peanuts  to  the  waterfowl  and  satiated  goldfish. 

Dr.  Hollis  looked  after  him,  her  small  hand 
buried  among  the  pages  of  her  open  book.  Garden 
viewed  his  disappearing  figure  with  guileless  emo 
tions.  He  was  vaguely  aware  that  something  im 
portant  was  about  to  happen  to  him.  And  it  did 
before  he  was  prepared. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

WHEN  Rosalind  Hollis  found  herself  on  her  feet 
again  a  slight  sensation  of  fright  checked  her  for 
a  moment.  Then,  resolutely  suppressing  such  un 
worthy  weakness,  the  lofty  inspiration  of  her  mis 
sion  in  life  dominated  her,  and  she  stepped  forward 
undaunted.  And  Garden,  seeing  her  advance  to 
ward  him,  arose  in  astonishment  to  meet  her. 

For  a  second  they  stood  facing  each  other,  he 
astounded,  she  a  trifle  pale  but  firm.  Then  in  a 
low  voice  she  asked  his  pardon  for  disturbing  him. 

"  I  am  Rosalind  Hollis,  a  physician,"  she  said 
quietly,  "  and  physicians  are  sometimes  obliged  to 
do  difficult  things  in  the  interest  of  their  profes 
sion.  It  is  dreadfully  difficult  for  me  to  speak  to 
you  in  this  way.  But " — she  looked  fearlessly  at 
him — "  I  am  confident  you  will  not  misinterpret 
what  I  have  done." 

He  managed  to  assure  her  that  he  did  not  mis 
interpret  it. 

She  regarded  him  steadily;  she  examined  the 
dark  circles  under  his  eyes ;  she  coolly  observed  his 
rising  color  under  her  calm  inspection ;  she  saw  him 
18  263 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

fidgeting  with  his  walking  stick.     She  must  try  his 
pulse ! 

"  Would  you  mind  if  I  asked  you  a  few  questions 
in  the  interest  of  science?  "  she  said  earnestly. 

"  As  a  m-m-matter  of  fact,"  he  stammered,  "  I 
don't  know  much  about  science.  Awfully  glad  to 
do  anything  I  can,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  it  that  way,"  she  reassured 
him.  A  hint  of  a  smile  tinted  her  eyes  with  brilliant 
amethyst.  "  Would  you  mind  if  I  sat  here  for  a 
few  moments?  Could  you  overlook  this  horrid  un- 
conventionality  long  enough  for  me  to  explain  why 
I  have  spoken  to  you?  " 

"  I  could  indeed !  "  he  said,  so  anxiously  cordial 
that  her  lovely  face  grew  serious  and  she  hesitated. 
But  he  was  standing  aside,  hat  off,  placing  the 
bench  at  her  disposal,  and  she  seated  herself,  pla 
cing  her  book  on  the  bench  beside  her. 

"  Would  you  mind  sitting  here  for  a  few  mo 
ments  ?  "  she  asked  him  gravely. 

Dazed,  scarcely  crediting  the  evidence  of  his 
senses,  he  took  possession  of  the  end  of  the  bench 
with  the  silent  obedience  of  a  schoolboy.  His  atti 
tude  was  irreproachable.  She  was  grateful  for 
this,  and  her  satisfaction  with  herself  for  not  hav 
ing  misjudged  him  renewed  her  confidence  in  him, 
in  herself,  and  in  the  difficult  situation. 
264 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

She  began,  quietly,  by  again  telling  him  her 
name  and  profession ;  where  she  lived,  and  that  she 
was  studying  to  be  a  specialist,  though  she  did  not 
intimate  what  that  specialty  was  to  be. 

Outwardly  composed  and  attentively  deferential, 
his  astonishment  at  times  dominated  a  stronger  sen 
timent  that  seemed  to  grow  and  expand  with  her 
every  word,  seizing  him  in  a  fierce  possession  abso 
lutely  and  hopelessly  complete. 

The  bewildering  fascination  of  her  mastered  him. 
No  cool  analysis  of  what  his  senses  were  confirming 
could  be  necessary  to  convince  him  of  his  condition. 
Every  word  of  hers,  every  gesture,  every  inflection 
of  her  sweet,  clear  voice,  every  lifting  of  her  head, 
her  eyes,  her  perfectly  gloved  hands,  only  repeated 
to  him  what  he  knew  was  a  certainty.  Never  had 
he  looked  upon  such  physical  loveliness ;  never  had 
he  dreamed  of  such  a  voice. 

She  had  asked  him  a  question,  and,  absorbed  in 
the  pure  delight  of  looking  at  her,  he  had  not  com 
prehended  or  answered.  She  flushed  sensitively, 
accepting  his  silence  as  refusal,  and  he  came  out  of 
his  trance  hastily. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon ;  I  did  not  quite  understand 
your  question,  Miss  Hollis — I  mean,  Dr.  Hollis." 

"  I  asked  you  if  you  minded  my  noting  your 
pulse,"  she  said. 

265 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

He  stretched  out  his  right  hand;  she  stripped 
off  her  glove,  laid  the  tip  of  her  middle  finger  on 
his  wrist,  and  glanced  down  at  the  gold  watch 
which  she  held. 

"  I  am  wondering,"  he  said,  laughing  uncer 
tainly,  "  whether  you  believe  me  to  be  ill.  Of 
course  it  is  easy  to  see  that  you  have  found  some 
thing  unusual  about  me — something  of  particular 
interest  to  a  physician.  Is  there  anything  very 
dreadful  going  to  happen  to  me,  Dr.  Hollis?  I 
feel  perfectly  well." 

"Are  you  sure  you  feel  well?"  she  asked,  so 
earnestly  that  the  smile  on  his  lips  faded  out. 

"  Absolutely.     Is  my  pulse  queer?  " 

"  It  is  not  normal." 

He  could  easily  account  for  that,  but  he  said 
nothing. 

She  questioned  him  for  a  few  minutes,  noted  his 
pulse  again,  looked  closely  at  the  bluish  circles 
under  his  eyes.  Naturally  he  flushed  up  and  grew 
restless  under  the  calm,  grave,  beautiful  eyes. 

"  I — I  have  an  absolutely  new  and  carefully 
sterilized  thermometer — ':  She  drew  it  from  a  tiny 
gold-initialed  pocket  case,  and  looked  wistfully  at 
him. 

"You  want  to  put  that  into  my  mouth?"  he 
asked,  astonished. 

266 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  If  you  don't  mind." 

She  held  it  up,  shook  it  once  or  twice,  and  de 
liberately  inserted  it  between  his  lips.  And  there 
he  sat,  round-eyed,  silent,  the  end  of  the  ther 
mometer  protruding  at  a  rakish  angle  from  the 
comer  of  his  mouth.  And  he  grew  redder  and 
redder. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  alarm  you,"  she  was  saying, 
"  but  all  this  is  so  deeply  significant,  so  full  of 
vital  interest  to  me — to  the  world,  to  science — • — " 

"  What  have  I  got,  in  Heaven's  name?  "  he  said 
thickly,  the  thermometer  wiggling  in  his  mouth. 

"  Ah ! "  she  exclaimed  with  soft  enthusiasm, 
clasping  her  pretty  ungloved  hands,  "  I  cannot  be 
sure  yet — I  dare  not  be  too  sanguine " 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  want  me  to  have  some 
thing  queer?  "  he  blurted  out,  while  the  thermome 
ter  wiggled  with  every  word  he  uttered. 

"  N-no,  of  course,  I  don't  want  you  to  be  ill," 
she  said  hastily.  "  Only,  if  you  are  ill  it  will 
be  a  wonderful  thing  for  me.  I  mean — a — that 
I  am  intensely  interested  in  certain  symptoms 
which " 

She  gently  withdrew  the  glass  tube  from  his  lips 
and  examined  it  carefully. 

"  /s   there  anything  the  matter?  "  he  insisted, 
looking  at  the  instrument  over  her  shoulder. 
267 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

She  did  not  reply ;  pure  excitement  rendered  her 
speechless. 

"  I  seem  to  feel  all  right,"  he  added  uneasily. 
"  If  you  really  believe  that  there's  anything  wrong 
with  me,  I'll  stop  in  to  see  my  doctor." 

"  Your  doctor !  "  she  repeated,  appalled. 

"  Yes,  certainly.     Why  not?  " 

"  Don't  do  that !  Please  don't  do  that !  I— why 
/  discovered  this  case.  I  beg  you  most  earnestly  to 
let  me  observe  it.  You  don't  understand  the  im 
portance  of  it !  You  don't  begin  to  dream  of  the 
rarity  of  this  case !  How  much  it  means  to  me !  " 

He  flushed  up.  "  Do  you  intend  to  intimate 
that  I  am  afflicted  with  some  sort  of  rare  and 
s-s-trange  d-d-disease?  "  he  stammered. 

"  I  dare  not  pronounce  upon  it  too  confidently," 
she  said  with  enthusiasm ;  "  I  have  not  yet  abso 
lutely  determined  the  nature  of  the  disease.  But, 
oh,  I  am  beginning  to  hope 

"  Then  I  am  diseased !  "  he  faltered.  "  I've  got 
something  anyhow;  is  that  it?  Only  you  are  not 
yet  perfectly  sure  what  it  is  called!  Is  that  the 
truth,  Miss  Hollis?" 

"  How  can  I  answer  positively  until  I  have  had 

time  to  observe  these  symptoms?     It  requires  time 

to  be  certain.     I  do  not  wish  to  alarm  you,  but 

it   is   my   duty  to   say   to  you   that   you   should 

268 


THE  TRACER  OF  LOST  PERSONS 

immediately  pla,ce  yourself  under   medical   obser 
vation."    ' 

"You  think  that?" 

u  I  do ;  I  am  convinced  of  it.  Please  understand 
me;  I  do  not  pronounce  upon  these  visible  symp 
toms  ;  I  do  not  express  an  unqualified  opinion ;  but 
I  could  be  in  a  position  to  do  so  if  you  consent  to 
place  yourself  under  my  observations  and  care. 
For  these  suspicious  symptoms  are  not  only  very 
plainly  apparent  to  me,  but  were  even  noted  by 
that  old  gentleman  whom  you  may  perhaps  have 
observed  conversing  with  me." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  him.    Who  is  he?  " 

"  Dr.  Austin  Atwood,"  said  the  girl  solemnly. 

"  Oh !  And  you  say  he  also  observed  something 
queer  about  me?  What  did  he  see?  Are  there 
spots  on  me?  Am  I  turning  any  remarkable  color? 
Am  I — "  And  in  the  very  midst  of  his  genuine 
alarm  he  suddenly  remembered  the  make-up  box 
and  what  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  had  done  to 
his  eyes.  Was  that  it?  Where  was  the  Tracer, 
anyway?  He  had  promised  to  appear.  And  then 
Garden  recollected  the  gray  wig  and  whiskers  that 
the  Tracer  had  waved  at  him  from  the  cupboard, 
bidding  him  note  them  well.  Could  that  beaming, 
benignant,  tottering  old  gentleman  have  been  the 
Tracer  of  Lost  Persons  himself?  And  the  same 
269 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

instant  Garden  was  sure  of  it,  spite  of  the  miracu 
lous  change  in  the  man. 

Then  logic  came  to  his  aid;  and,  deducing  with 
care  and  patience,  an  earnest  conviction  grew 
within  him  that  the  dark  circles  under  his  eyes 
and  the  tottering  old  gentleman  resembling  Dr. 
Austin  Atwood  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with 
this  dreadful  disease  which  Dr.  Hollis  desired  to 
study. 

He  looked  at  the  charming  girl  beside  him,  and 
she  looked  back  at  him  very  sweetly,  very  earnestly, 
awaiting  his  decision. 

For  a  moment  he  realized  that  she  had  really 
scared  him,  and  in  the  reaction  of  relief  an  over 
whelming  desire  to  laugh  seized  him.  He  managed 
to  suppress  it,  to  compose  himself.  Then  he  re 
membered  the  Tracer's  admonition  to  acquiesce  in 
everything,  do  what  he  was  told  to  do,  not  to  run 
away,  and  to  pay  his  court  at  the  first  decent 
opportunity. 

He  had  no  longer  any  desire  to  escape;  he  was 
quite  willing  to  do  anything  she  desired. 

"  Do  you  really  want  to  study  me,  Dr.  Hollis?  " 
he  asked,  feeling  like  a  hypocrite. 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  she  replied  fervently. 

"  You  believe  me  worth  studying?  " 

"  Oh,  truly,  truly,  you  are !  You  don't  suspect 
270 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

— you  cannot  conceive  how  important  you  have 
suddenly  become  to  me." 

"  Then  I  think  you  had  better  take  my  case,  Dr. 
Hollis,"  he  said  seriously.  "  I  begin  now  to  realize 
that  you  believe  me  to  be  a  sort  of  freak — an 
afflicted  curiosity,  and  that,  in  the  interest  of  medi 
cine,  I  ought  to  go  to  an  asylum  or  submit  myself 
to  the  ceaseless  observation  of  a  competent  private 
physician." 

"  I — I  think  it  best  for  you  to  place  yourself  in 
my  care,"  she  said.  "  Will  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  will.  I'll  do  anything  in  the 
world  you  ask." 

"  That  is  very — very  generous,  very  noble  of 
you !  "  she  exclaimed,  flushing  with  excitement  and 
delight.  "  It  means  a  great  deal  to  me — it  means, 
perhaps,  a  fame  that  I  scarcely  dared  dream  of 
even  in  my  most  enthusiastic  years.  I  am  too 
grateful  to  express  my  gratitude  coherently ;  I  am 
trying  to  say  to  you  that  I  thank  you ;  that  I  recog 
nize  in  you  those  broad,  liberal,  generous  qualities 
which,  from  your  appearance  and  bearing,  I — I 
thought  perhaps  you  must  possess." 

She  colored  again  very  prettily;  he  bowed,  and 
ventured  to  remind  her  that  she  had  not  yet  given 
him  the  privilege  of  naming  himself. 

"That  is  true!"  she  said,  surprised.  "I  had 
271 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

quite  forgotten  it."     But  when  he  named  himself 
she  raised  her  head,  startled. 

"  Victor  Garden !  "  she  repeated.  "  You  are  the 
artist,  Victor  Garden !  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  watching  her  dilated  eyes  like 
two  violet-tinted  jewels. 

For  a  minute  she  sat  looking  at  him;  and  im 
perceptibly  a  change  came  into  her  face,  and  its 
bewildering  beauty  softened  as  the  vivid  tints  died 
out,  leaving  her  cheeks  almost  pale. 

"  It  is — a  pity,"  she  said  under  her  breath.  All 
the  excitement,  all  the  latent  triumph,  all  the 
scarcely  veiled  eager  enthusiasm  had  gone  from 
her  now. 

"  A  pity  ?  "  he  repeated,  smiling. 
6  Yes.  I  wish  it  had  been  only  an  ordinary  man. 
I — why  should  this  happen  to  you?  You  have 
done  so  much  for  us  all — made  us  forget  ourselves 
in  the  beauty  of  what  you  offer  us.  Why  should 
this  happen  to  you  !  " 

"  But  you  have  not  told  me  yet  what  has  hap 
pened  to  me,  Miss  Hollis." 

She  looked  up,  almost  frightened. 
"  Are  you  our  Victor  Garden?     I  do  not  wish  to 
believe  it!     You  have  done  so  much  for  the  world 
— you  have  taught  us  to  understand  and  desire  all 
that  is  noble  and  upright  and  clean  and  beautiful ! 
272 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

— to  desire  it,  to  aspire  toward  it,  to  venture  to  live 
the  good,  true,  wholesome  lives  that  your  penciled 
creations  must  lead — must  lead  to  wear  such  beau 
tiful  bodies  and  such  divine  eyes !  " 

"  Do  you  care  for  my  work?  "  he  asked,  aston 
ished  and  moved. 

"  I?     Yes,  of  course  I  do.     Who  does  not?  " 

"  Many,"  he  replied  simply. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  them,"  she  said. 

They  sat  silent  for  a  long  while. 

At  first  his  overwhelming  desire  was  to  tell  her 
of  the  deception  practiced  upon  her;  but  he  could 
not  do  that,  because  in  exposing  himself  he  must 
fail  in  loyalty  to  the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons.  Be 
sides,  she  would  not  believe  him.  She  would  think 
him  mad  if  he  told  her  that  the  old  gentleman  she 
had  taken  for  Dr.  Atwood  was  probably  Mr.  Keen, 
the  Tracer  of  Lost  Persons.  Also,  he  himself  was 
not  absolutely  certain  about  it.  He  had  merely 
deduced  as  much. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said  very  gently,  "  what  is  the 
malady  from  which  you  believe  I  am  suffer- 
ing?  " 

For  a  moment  she  remained  silent,  then,  face 
averted,  laid  her  finger  on  the  book  beside  her. 

"  That,"  she  said  unsteadily. 

He  read  aloud :  "  Lamour's  Disease.    A  Treatise 
273 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

in  sixteen  volumes  by  Ero  S.  Lamour,  M.D.,  M.S., 
F.B.A.,  M.F.H." 

"All  that?"  he  asked  guiltily. 
"  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Garden.     Are  you  laughing 
at  me?    Do  you  not  believe  me?  "    She  had  turned 
suddenly  to  confront  him,  surprising  a  humorous 
glimmer  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  really  do  not  believe  I  am  seriously  ill,5'  he 
said,  laughing  in  spite  of  her  grave  eyes. 

"  Then   perhaps   you   had   better   read    a    little 
about  what  Lamour  describes  as  the  symptoms  of 
this  malady,"  she  said  sadly. 
"  Is  it  fatal?  "  he  inquired. 
"  Ultimately.     That  is  why  I  desire  to  spend  my 
life  in  studying  means  to  combat  it.     That  is  why 
I  desire  you  so  earnestly  to  place  yourself  under 
my  observation  and  let  me  try." 

"Tell  me  one  thing,"  he  said ;  "  is  it  contagious? 
Is  it  infectious?  No?  Then  I  don't  mind  your 
studying  me  all  you  wish,  Dr.  Hollis.  You  may 
take  my  temperature  every  ten  minutes  if  you  care 
to.  You  may  observe  my  pulse  every  five  minutes 
if  you  desire.  Only  please  tell  me  how  this  is  to  be 
accomplished ;  because,  you  see,  I  live  in  the  Sher 
wood  Studio  Building,  and  you  live  on  Madison 
Avenue." 

"  I — I   have  a  ward — a   room — fitted   up  with 
274 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

every  modern  surgical  device  —  every  improve 
ment,"  she  said.  "  It  adjoins  my  office.  Would 
you  mind  living  there  for  a  while — say  for  a  week 
at  first — until  I  can  be  perfectly  certain  in  my 
diagnosis?  " 

"  Do  you  intend  to  put  me  to  bed?  "  he  asked, 
appalled. 

"  Oh,  no !  Only  I  wish  to  watch  you  carefully 
and  note  your  symptoms  from  moment  to  moment. 
I  also  desire  to  try  the  effects  of  certain  medicines 
on  you " 

"  What  kind  of  medicines  ?  "  he  asked  uneasily. 

"  I  cannot  tell  yet.  Perhaps  antitoxin ;  I  don't 
know;  perhaps  formalin  later.  Truly,  Mr.  Car- 
den,  this  case  has  taken  on  a  graver,  a  more  inti 
mate  significance  since  I  have  learned  who  you  are. 
I  would  have  worked  hard  to  save  any  life ;  I  shall 
put  my  very  heart  and  soul  into  my  work  to  save 
you,  who  have  done  so  much  for  us  all." 

The  trace  of  innocent  emotion  in  her  voice  moved 
him. 

"  I  am  really  not  ill,"  he  said  unsteadily.  "  I 
cannot  let  you  think  I  am — 

"  Don't  speak  that  way,  Mr.  Garden.  I — I  am 
perfectly  miserable  over  it ;  I  don't  feel  any  happi 
ness  in  my  discovery  now — not  the  least  bit.  I 
had  rather  live  my  entire  life  without  seeing  one 
275 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

case  of  Lamour's  Disease  than  to  believe  you  are 
afflicted  with  it." 

"  But  I'm  not,  Miss  Hollis ! — really,  I  am 
not " 

She  looked  at  him  compassionately  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  rose. 

"  It  is  best  that  you  should  be  informed  as  to 
your  probable  condition,"  she  said.  "  In  Lamour's 
works,  volume  nine,  you  had  better  read  exactly 
what  Lamour  says.  Do  you  mind  coming  to  the 
office  with  me,  Mr.  Garden  ?  " 

"Now?" 

"  Yes.  The  book  is  there.  Do  you  mind  com- 
ing?  " 

"  No — no,  of  course  not."  And,  as  they  turned 
away  together  under  the  trees :  "  You  don't  intend 
to  begin  observing  me  this  afternoon,  do  you?" 
he  ventured. 

"  I  think  it  best  if  you  can  arrange  your  affairs. 
Can  you,  Mr.  Garden?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  I  suppose  I  can.  Did  you  mean 
for  me  to  begin  to  occupy  that  surgical  bedroom 
at  once?  " 

"  Do  you  mind?  " 

"  N-no.  I'll  telephone  my  servants  to  pack  a 
steamer  trunk  and  send  it  around  to  your  apart 
ment  this  evening.  And — where  am  I  to  board  ?  " 
276 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  I  have  a  dining  room,"  she  said  simply.  "  My 
apartment  consists  of  the  usual  number  of  servants 
and  rooms,  including  my  office,  and  my  observa 
tion  ward  which  you  will  occupy." 

He  walked  on,  troubled. 

"  I  only  w-want  to  ask  one  or  two  things,  Dr. 
Hollis.  Am  I  to  be  placed  on  a  diet?  I  hate  diets  !  " 

"  Not  at  once." 

"May  I  smoke?" 

"  Certainly,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"  And  you  won't  p-put  me — send  me  to  bed  too 
early?" 

"  Oh,  no !  The  later  you  sit  up  the  better,  be 
cause  I  shall  wish  to  take  your  temperature  every 
ten  minutes  and  I  shall  feel  very  sorry  to  arouse 
you." 

"  You  mean  you  are  coming  in  to  wake  me  up 
every  ten  minutes  and  put  that  tube  in  my 
mouth  ?  "  he  asked,  aghast. 

"  Only  every  half-hour,  Mr.  Garden.  Can't  you 
stand  it  for  a  week?  " 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I — I  suppose  I  can  if  you 
can.  Only,  upon  my  honor,  there  is  really  nothing 
the  matter  with  me,  and  I'll  prove  it  to  you  out  of 
your  own  book." 

"  I  wish  you  could,  Mr.  Garden.     I  should  be 
only  too  happy  to  give  you  back  to  the  world  with 
277 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

a  clear  bill  of  health  if  you  can  convince  me  I  am 
wrong.  Do  you  not  believe  me?  Indeed,  indeed 
I  am  not  selfish  and  wicked  enough  to  wish  you  this 
illness,  no  matter  how  rare  it  is !  " 

'  The  rarer  a  disease  is  the  madder  it  makes 
people  who  contract  it,"  he  said.  "  I  should  be 
the  maddest  man  in  Manhattan  if  I  really  did 
have  Lamour's  malady.  But  I  haven't.  There  is 
only  one  malady  afflicting  me,  and  I  am  waiting 
for  a  suitable  opportunity  to  tell  you  all  about  it, 
but " 

'  Tell  me  now,"  she  said,  raising  her  eyes  to 
his. 

"  Not  now." 

"To-night?" 

"  I  hope  so.     I  will  if  I  can,  Miss  Hollis." 

"But  you  must  not  fear  to  tell  a  physician  about 
anything  which  troubles  you,  Mr.  Garden." 

"  I'll  remember  that,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  as 
they  emerged  from  the  Park  and  crossed  to  Madi 
son  Avenue. 

A  moment  later  he  hailed  a  car  and  they  both 
entered. 


278 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

No,  there  could  be  no  longer  any  doubt  in  her 
mind  as  she  went  into  her  bedroom,  closed  the  door, 
and,  unhooking  the  telephone  receiver,  called  up  the 
great  specialist  in  rare  diseases,  Dr.  Austin  At 
wood,  M.S.,  F.B.A.,  M.F.H. 

"  Dr.  Atwood,"  she  said  with  scarcely  concealed 
emotion,  "  this  is  Dr.  Rosalind  Hollis." 

"  How-de-do  ? "  squeaked  the  aged  specialist 
amiably. 

"  Oh,  I  am  well  enough,  thank  you,  doctor — 
except  in  spirits.  Dr.  Atwood,  you  were  right! 
He  has  got  it,  and  I  am  perfectly  wretched !  " 

"  Who  has  got  what  ?  "  retorted  the  voice  of 
Atwood. 

"  The  unfortunate  young  gentleman  we  saw  to 
day  in  the  Park " 

"What  park?" 

"  Why,  Central  Park,  doctor " 

"  Central  Park !  /  haven't  been  in  Central  Park 
for  ten  years,  my  child." 

"  Why,   Dr.   Atwood ! — A — is  this  Dr.   Austin 
Atwood  with  whom  I  am  talking?  " 
19  279 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  Not  the  least  doubt !  And  you  are  that  pretty 
Dr.  Hollis — Rosalind  Hollis,  who  consulted  me  in 
those  charity  cases,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  certainly  am.  And  I  wanted  to  say  to  you 
that  I  have  the  unfortunate  patient  now  under 
closest  observation  here  in  my  own  apartment.  I 
have  given  him  the  room  next  to  the  office.  And, 
doctor,  you  were  perfectly  right.  He  shows  every 
symptom  of  the  disease — he  is  even  inclined  to  sen- 
timentalism;  he  begins  to  blush  and  fidget  and 
look  at  me — a — in  that  unmistakable  manner — not 
that  he  isn't  well-bred  and  charming — indeed  he  is 
most  attractive,  and  it  grieves  me  dreadfully  to  see 
that  he  already  is  beginning  to  believe  himself  in 
love  with  the  first  person  of  the  opposite  sex  he 
encounters — I  mean  that  he — that  I  cannot  mis 
take  his  attitude  toward  me — which  is  perfectly 
correct,  only  one  cannot  avoid  seeing  the  curious 
infatuation " 

"  What  the  dickens  is  all  this?  "  roared  the  great 
specialist,  and  Dr.  Hollis  jumped. 

"  I  was  only  confirming  your  diagnosis,  doctor," 
she  explained  meekly. 

"What  diagnosis?" 

"  Yours,  doctor.  I  have  confirmed  it,  I  fear. 
And  the  certainty  has  made  me  perfectly  miser 
able,  because  his  is  such  a  valuable  life  to  the  world, 
280 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

and  he  himself  is  such  a  splendid,  wholesome,  noble 
specimen  of  youth  and  courage,  that  I  cannot  bear 
to  believe  him  incurably  afflicted." 

"  Good  Heavens !  "  shouted  the  doctor,  "  what 
has  he  got  and  wlio  is  he?  " 

"  He  is  Victor  Garden,  the  celebrated  artist,  and 
he  has  Lamour's  Disease !  "  she  gasped. 

There  was  a  dead  silence ;  then :  "  Keep  him  there 
until  I  come!  Chloroform  him  if  he  attempts  to 
escape !  " 

And  the  great  specialist  rang  off  excitedly. 

So  Rosalind  Hollis  went  back  to  the  lamp-lit 
office  where,  in  a  luxurious  armchair,  Garden  was 
sitting,  contentedly  poring  over  the  ninth  volume 
of  Lamour's  great  treatise  and  smoking  his  second 
cigar. 

"  Dr.  Atwood  is  coming  here,"  she  said  in  a  dis 
couraged  voice,  as  he  rose  with  alacrity  to  place 
her  chair. 

"Oh!     What  for?" 

"  T-to  see  you,  Mr.  Garden." 

"Who?  Me?  Great  Scott!  I  don't  want  to 
be  slapped  and  pinched  and  polled  by  a  man!  I 
didn't  expect  that,  you  know.  I'm  willing  enough 
to  have  you  observe  me  in  the  interest  of  human 
ity " 

"  But,  Mr.  Garden,  he  is  only  called  in  for  con- 
281 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

sultation.  I — I  have  a  dreadful  sort  of  desperate 
hope  that  perhaps  I  may  have  made  a  mistake; 
that  possibly  I  am  in  error." 

"  No  doubt  you  are,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "  Let 
me  read  a  few  more  pages,  Dr.  Hollis,  and  then  I 
think  I  shall  be  all  ready  to  dispute  my  symptoms, 
one  by  one,  and  convince  you  what  really  is  the 
trouble  with  me.  And,  by  the  way,  did  Dr.  At- 
wood  seem  a  trifle  astonished  when  you  told  him 
about  me?  " 

"A  trifle — yes,"  she  said  uncertainly.  "  He  is 
a  very,  very  old  man;  he  forgets.  But  he  is 
coming." 

"  Oh !  And  didn't  he  appear  to  recollect  seeing 
me  in  the  Park?" 

"  N-not  clearly.  He  is  very  old,  you  know. 
But  he  is  coming  here." 

"  Exactly — as  a  friend  of  mine  puts  it,"  smiled 
Garden.  "  May  I  be  permitted  to  use  your  tele 
phone  a  moment?  " 

"  By  all  means,  Mr.  Garden.  You  will  find  it 
there  in  my  bedroom." 

So  he  entered  her  pretty  bedroom  and,  closing 
the  door  tightly,  called  up  the  Tracer  of  Lost 
Persons. 

"  Is  that  you,  Mr.  Keen?  This  is  Mr.  Garden. 
I'm  head  over  heels  in  love.  I  simply  must  win 
282 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

her,  and  I'm  going  to  try.  If  I  don't — if  she  will 
not  li'sten  to  me — I'll  certainly  go  to  smash.  And 
what  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  prevent  Atwood  from 
butting  in.  Do  you  understand?  .  .  .  Yes,  Dr. 
Austin  Atwood.  Keep  him  away  somehow.  .  .  . 
Yes,  I'm  here,  at  Dr.  Hollis's  apartments,  under 
anxious  observation.  .  .  .  She  is  the  only  woman 
in  the  world!  I'm  mad  about  her — and  getting 
madder  every  moment!  She  is  the  most  perfectly 
splendid  specimen  of  womanhood — what?  Oh, 
yes;  I  rang  you  up  to  ask  you  whether  it  was 
you  in  the  Park  to-day? — that  old  gentleman — 
What  !  Yes,  in  Central  Park.  Yes,  this  after 
noon  !  No,  he  didn't  resemble  you ;  and  Dr.  Hollis 
took  him  for  Dr.  Atwood.  .  .  .  What  are  you 
laughing  about?  ...  I  can  hear  you  laughing. 
.  .  .  Was  it  you?  .  .  .  What  do  I  think?  Why, 
1  don't  know  exactly  what  to  think,  but  I  suppose 
it  must  have  been  you.  Was  it?  .  .  .  Oh,  I  see. 
You  don't  wish  me  to  know.  Certainly,  you  are 
quite  right.  Your  clients  have  no  business  behind 
the  scenes.  I  only  asked  out  of  curiosity.  .  .  . 
All  right.  Good-by." 

He  came  back  to  the  lamp-lit  office,  which  was 
more  of  a  big,  handsome,  comfortable  living  room 
than  a  physician's  quarters,  and  for  a  moment  or 
two  he  stood  on  the  threshold,  looking  around. 
283 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

In  the  pleasant,  subdued  light  of  the  lamp 
Rosalind  Hollis  looked  up  and  around,  smiling  in 
voluntarily  to  see  him  standing  there;  then,  serious, 
silent,  she  dropped  her  eyes  to  the  pages  of  the 
volume  he  had  discarded — volume  nine  of  Lamour's 
great  works. 

Even  with  the  evidence  before  her,  corroborated 
in  these  inexorably  scientific  pages  which  she  sat  so 
sadly  turning,  she  found  it  almost  impossible  to 
believe  that  this  big,  broad-shouldered,  attractive 
young  man  could  be  fatally  stricken. 

Twice  her  violet  eyes  stole  toward  him;  twice 
the  thick  lashes  veiled  them,  and  the  printed 
pages  on  her  knee  sprang  into  view,  and  the 
cold  precision  of  the  type  confirmed  her  fears 
remorselessly : 

"  The  trained  scrutiny  of  the  observer  will  de 
tect  in  the  victim  of  this  disease  a  peculiar  and  in 
definable  charm — a  strange  symmetry  which,  on 
closer  examination,  reveals  traces  of  physical  beauty 
almost  superhuman " 

Again  her  eyes  were  lifted  to  Garden ;  again  she 
dropped  her  white  lids.  Her  worst  fears  were  con 
firmed. 

Meanwhile  he  stood  on  the  threshold  looking 
at  her,  his  pulses  racing,  his  very  soul  staring 
through  his  eyes;  and,  within  him,  every  sense 
284 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

clamoring  out  revolt  at  the  deception,  demanding 
confession  and  its  penalty. 

"  I  can't  stand  this !  "  he  blurted  out ;  and  she 
looked  up  quickly,  her  face  blanched  with  fore 
boding. 

"  Are  you  in  pain  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No — not  that  sort  of  pain !  I — won't  you 
please  believe  that  I  am  not  ill?  I'm  imposing  on 
you.  I'm  an  impostor !  There's  nothing  whatever 
the  trouble  with  me  except — something  that  I  want 
to  tell  you — if  you'll  let  me " 

"  Why  should  you  hesitate  to  confide  in  a  physi 
cian,  Mr.  Garden  ?  " 

He  came  forward  slowly.  She  laid  her  small 
hand  on  the  empty  chair  which  faced  hers  and  he 
sank  into  it,  clasping  his  restless  hands  under  his 
chin. 

"  You  are  feeling  depressed,"  she  said  gently. 
Depression  was  a  significant  symptom.  Three 
chapters  were  devoted  to  it. 

"  I'm  depressed,  of  course.  I'm  horribly  de 
pressed  and  ashamed  of  myself,  because  there  is 
nothing  on  earth  the  matter  with  me,  and  I've  let 
you  think  there  is." 

She  smiled  mournfully;  this  was  another  symp 
tom  of  a  morbid  state.     She  turned,  unconsciously, 
to  page  379  to  verify  her  observation. 
285 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

"  See  here,  Miss  Hollis,"  he  broke  out,  "  haven't 
I  any  chance  to  convince  you  that  I  am  not  ill?  I 
want  to  be  honest  without  involving  a — a  friend 
of  mine.  I  can't  endure  this  deception.  Won't 
you  let  me  prove  to  you  that  these  symptoms  are — 
are  only  significant  of  something  else?  " 

She  looked  straight  at  him,  considering  him  in 
silence. 

"  Let  us  begin  with  those  dark  circles  under  my 
eyes,"  he  said  desperately.  "  I  found  some  cold- 
cream  in  my  room  and — look!  They  are  prac 
tically  gone!  At  any  rate,  if  there  is  a  sort  of 
shadow  left  it's  because  I  use  my  eyes  in  my  pro 
fession." 

"  Dr.  Lamour  says  that  the  dark  circles  disap 
pear,  anyway,"  said  the  girl,  unconvinced.  "  Cold- 
cream  had  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"But  it  didl  Really  it  did.  And  as  for  the 
other  symptoms,  I — well,  I  can't  help  my  pulses 
when  y-you  t-t-touch  me." 

"  Please,  Mr.  Garden." 

"  I  don't  mean  to  be  impertinent.  I  am  trying 
my  hardest  to  tell  the  truth.  And  my  pulses  do 
gallop  when  you  test  them ;  they're  galloping  now ! 
This  very  moment !  " 

"  Let  me  try  them,"  she  said  coolly,  laying  her 
hand  on  his  wrist. 

286 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST   PERSONS 

"  Didn't  I  say  so !  "  he  insisted  grimly.  "  And 
I'm  turning  red,  too.  But  those  symptoms  mean 
something  else ;  they  mean  you !  " 

"  Mr.  Garden !  " 

"  I  can't  help  saying  so 

"  I  know  it,"  she  said  soothingly ;  "  these  senti 
mental  outbursts  are  part  of  the  disease " 

"  Good  Heavens !  Won't  you  try  to  believe  me ! 
There's  nothing  in  the  world  the  matter  with  me 
except  that  I  am — am — p-p-perfectly  f-f-fasci- 
nated " 

"  You  must  struggle  against  it,  Mr.  Garden. 
That  is  only  part  of  the— 

"  It  isn't !  It  isn't !  It's  you !  It's  your  mere 
presence,  your  personality,  your  charm,  your 
beauty,  your  loveliness,  your ' 

"  Mr.  Garden,  I  beg  of  you !  I — it  is  part  of 
my  duty  to  observe  symptoms,  but — but  you  are 
making  it  very  hard  for  me — very  difficult " 

"  I  am  only  proving  to  you  that  it  isn't  La- 
mour's  Disease  which  does  stunts  with  my  pulses, 
my  temperature,  my  color.  I'm  not  morbid  ex 
cept  when  I  realize  my  deception.  I'm  not  de 
pressed  except  when  I  think  how  far  you  are 
from  me — how  far  above  me — how  far  out  of 
reach  of  such  a  man  as  I  am — how  desperately 

I— I " 

287 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST  PERSONS 

"  D-don't  you  think  I  had  better  administer  a 
s-s-sedative,  Mr.  Garden?"  she  said,  distressed. 

"  I  don't  care.  I'll  take  anything  you  give  me 
—as  long  as  you  give  it  to  me.  I'll  swallow  pint 
after  pint  of  pills!  I'll  fletcherize  'em!  I'll  lux 
uriate  in  poison — anything " 

She  was  hastily  running  through  the  pages  of 
the  ninth  volume  to  see  whether  the  symptoms  of 
sentimental  excitement  ever  turned  into  frenzy. 

"  What  can  you  learn  from  that  book?  "  he  in 
sisted,  leaning  forward  to  see  what  she  was  read 
ing.  "  Anyway,  Dr.  Lamour  married  his  patient 
so  early  in  the  game  that  all  the  symptoms  disap 
peared.  And  I  believe  the  trouble  with  his  patient 
was  my  trouble.  She  had  every  symptom  of  it 
until  he  married  her!  She  was  in  love  with  him, 
that  is  absolutely  all !  " 

Rosalind  Hollis  raised  her  beautiful,  incredulous 
eyes. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Garden  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that,  in  my  opinion,  there's  no  such 
disease  as  Lamour's  Disease.  That  young  girl  was 
in  love  with  him.  Then  he  married  her  at  last,  and 
—presto! — all  the  symptoms  vanished — the  pulse, 
the  temperature,  the  fidgets,  the  blushes,  the 
moods,  the  whole  business !  " 

;t  W-what  about  the  strangely  curious  manifes- 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

tations    of   physical   beauty  —  superhuman    sym 
metry,  Mr.  Carden  ?  " 

"  Do  you  notice  them  in  me?  "  he  gasped. 

"  A — yes — in  a  m-modified  measure " 

"  In  me?  " 

"  Certainly !  "  she  said  firmly ;  but  the  slow  glow 
suffusing  her  cheeks  was  disconcerting  her.  Then 
his  own  face  began  to  reflect  the  splendid  color  in 
hers ;  their  eyes  met,  dismayed. 

"  There  are  sixteen  volumes  about  this  disease," 
she  said.  "  There  mwt  be  such  a  disease !  " 

"  There  is,"  he  said.  "  I  have  it  badly.  But 
I  never  had  it  before  I  first  saw  you  in  the 
Park!" 

"  Mr.  Carden — this  is  the  wildest  absurdity— 

"  I  know  it.  Wildness  is  a  symptom.  I'm  mad 
as  a  hatter.  I've  got  every  separate  symptom,  and 
I  wish  it  was  infectious  and  contagious  and  catch 
ing  and  fatal ! " 

She  made  an  effort  to  turn  the  pages  to  the  chap 
ter  entitled  "  Manias  and  Illusions,"  but  he  laid 
his  hand  across  the  book  and  his  clear  eyes  defied 
her. 

"  Mr.  Carden " 

Her  smooth  hand  trembled  under  his,  then,  sud 
denly  nerveless,  relaxed.    With  an  effort  she  lifted 
her  head ;  their  eyes  met,  spellbound. 
289 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

;<  You  have  every  symptom,"  he  said  unsteadily 
— "  every  one !    What  have  you  to  say  ?  " 

Her  fascinated  eyes  held  his. 

"What  have  you  to  s«vy?"  he  repeated  under 
his  breath — "  you,  with  every  symptom,  and  your 
heavenly  radiant  beauty  to  confirm  them — that 
splendid  youthful  loveliness  which  blinds  and  stuns 
me  as  I  look — as  I  jspeak — as  I  tell  you  that  I  love 
you.  That  is  my  malady;  that  is  the  beginning 
and  the  end  of  it ;  love !  " 

She  sat  speechless,  immovable,  as  one  under  en 
chantment. 

"  All  my  life,"  he  said,  "  I  have  spent  in  paint 
ing  shadows.  But  the  shadows  were  those  dim 
celestial  shapes  cast  by  your  presence  in  the  world. 
You  tell  me  that  the  world  is  better  for  my  work; 
that  I  have  offered  my  people  beauty  and  a  sort 
of  truth,  which  they  had  never  dreamed  of  until  I 
revealed  it?  Yet  what  inspired  me  was  the  shadow 
only,  for  I  had  never  seen  the  substance;  I  had 
never  believed  I  should  ever  see  the  living  source 
of  the  shadows  which  inspired  me.  And  now  I 
see;  now  I  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes.  Now  the 
confession  of  faith  is  no  longer  a  blind  creed,  born 
of  instinct.  You  live!  You  are  you!  What  I 
believed  from  necessity  I  find  proved  in  fact.  The 
occult  no  longer  can  sway  one  who  has  seen.  And 
290 


THE    TRACER    OF   LOST  PERSONS 

you,  who,  without  your  knowledge  or  mine,  have 
always  been  the  one  and  only  source  of  any  good 
in  me  or  in  my  work — why  is  it  strange  that  I  loved 
you  at  first  sight? — that  I  worshiped  you  at  first 
breath? — I,  who,  like  him  who  raises  his  altar  to 
'  the  unknown  god,'  raised  my  altar  to  truth  and 
beauty?  And  a  miracle  has  answered  me." 

She  rose,  the  beautiful  dazed  eyes  meeting  his, 
both  hands  clasping  the  ninth  volume  of  Lamour's 
great  monograph  to  her  breast  as  though  to  pro 
tect  it  from  him — from  him  who  was  threatening 
her,  enthralling  her,  thrilling  her  with  his  magic 
voice,  his  enchanted  youth,  the  masterful  mystery 
of  his  eyes.  What  was  he  saying  to  her?  What 
was  this  mounting  intoxication  sweeping  her  senses 
—this  delicious  menace  threatening  her  very  will? 
What  did  he  want  with  her?  What  was  he  asking? 
What  was  he  doing  now — with  both  her  hands  in 
his,  and  her  gaze  deeply  lost  in  his — and  the  ninth 
volume  of  Lamour  on  the  floor  between  them, 
sprawling  there,  abandoned,  waving  its  helpless, 
discredited  leaves  in  air — discredited,  abandoned, 
obsolete  as  her  own  specialty — her  life's  work! 
He  had  taken  that,  too — taken  her  life's  work 
from  her.  And  in  return  she  was  holding  noth 
ing! — nothing  except  a  young  man's  hands — 
strong,  muscular  hands  which,  after  all,  were 
291 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSOXS 

holding  her  own  imprisoned.  So  she  had  nothing 
in  exchange  for  the  ninth  volume  of  Lamour ;  and 
her  life's  work  had  been  annihilated  by  a  smile; 
and  she  was  very  much  alone  in  the  world — very 
isolated  and  very  youthful. 

After  a  while  she  emerged  from  the  chaos  of 
attempted  reflection  and  listened  to  what  he  was 
saying.  He  spoke  very  quietly,  very  distinctly, 
not  sparing  himself,  laying  bare  every  deception 
without  involving  anybody  except  himself. 

He  told  her  the  entire  history  of  his  case,  ex 
cluding  Mr.  Keen  in  person ;  he  told  her  about  his 
aunt,  about  his  birthday,  about  his  determination 
to  let  the  legacy  go.  Then  in  a  very  manly  way 
he  told  her  that  he  had  never  before  loved  a  woman ; 
and  fell  silent,  her  hands  a  dead  weight  in  his. 

She  was  surprised  that  she  could  experience  no 
resentment.  A  curious  inertia  crept  over  her.  She 
was  tired  of  expectancy,  tired  of  effort,  weary  of 
the  burden  of  decision.  Life  and  its  problems 
overweighted  her.  Her  eyes  wandered  to  his  broad 
young  shoulders,  then  were  raised  to  his  face. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  she  asked  innocently. 

Unresisting,  she  suffered  him  to  explain.  His 
explanation  was  not  elaborate ;  he  only  touched  his 
lips  to  her  hands  and  straightened  up,  a  trifle 
pale. 

292 


THE    TRACER    OF    LOST   PERSONS 

After  a  moment  they  walked  together  to  the  door 
and  he  took  his  hat  and  gloves  from  the  rack. 

"  Will  you  come  to-morrow  morning  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  Come  early.  I  am  quite  certain  of  how  mat 
ters  are  with  me.  Everything  has  gone  out  of  my 
life — everything  I  once  cared  for — all  the  fa 
miliar  things.  So  come  early,  for  I  am  quite  alone 
without  you." 

"  And  I  without  you,  Rosalind." 

"  That  is  only  right,"  she  said  simply.  "  I  shall 
cast  no  more  shadows  for  you.  .  .  .  Are  you  go 
ing?  .  .  .  Oh,  I  know  it  is  best  that  you  should 
go,  but " 

He  halted.     She  laid  both  hands  in  his. 

"  We  both  have  it,"  she  faltered — "  every  symp 
tom.  And — you  will  come  early,  won't  you?  " 


THE    END 

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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


